


Some Nights

by Jadzia_Bear



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Darcy ships Stucky, F/M, M/M, OT3, Threesome - F/M/M, what's a little threesome between friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-15 15:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzia_Bear/pseuds/Jadzia_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When two of Darcy's closest friends fall in love she does everything she can to get them together. By the time she realises she has feelings of her own, things have already gone too far.</p><p>Written for the 'Going on Facebook Darcy Lewis Fic Exchange' on livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Still Not Sure What I Stand For

**Author's Note:**

  * For [someassemblingrequired](https://archiveofourown.org/users/someassemblingrequired/gifts).



> _Prompt:_ “I’m a huge sucker for Darcy in relationships. Especially a Darcy that is kind of hurting or isn't confident in herself/her abilities, even though we all know she's super smart. So I guess I'd like to see Darcy's self doubts sort of...beaten down by someone who ends up being her significant other(s).” Thanks to someassemblingrequired for the prompt! I didn’t do exactly this, but the fic is inspired by this, I guess :3
> 
>  _Extra points for:_ Coffee (particularly Starbucks), raspberries, JARVIS, Jane/Pepper/Natasha/Darcy hoemance (best friendship).
> 
>  _A note on my Bucky:_ This is a movie-verse fic, so his personality is based on the Bucky in the first Captain America movie (because the Winter Soldier sequel is still so painfully far away!). Obviously comic-verse canon applies in terms of how he got to the present day, but I decided not to bog him down with too many “issues” about all that because I felt that Darcy and 1940s Bucky would have heaps of fun together and I wanted to take advantage of that. Maybe he’s already worked through some stuff since reaching the 21st century, maybe he’s repressing things and/or maybe Darcy brings out his pre-Winter Soldier self. Whatever the case, my Bucky isn’t anywhere near as dark as the one you’ll find in the comics (or, possibly, _Captain America: the Winter Soldier,_ we’ll have to wait and see!).
> 
>  _AN:_ I could write a chapter’s worth of author’s notes for this fic, but it would pretty much just be me apologising for every single aspect of the story, so let’s just get on with it!

“Skinny hazelnut latte, venti,” Darcy recites when she gets to the front of the line. 

“Coming right up.” The barista accepts her handful of change with a kind smile. Darcy can’t quite bring herself to smile back, but she’s grateful for it all the same. ‘Elizabeth,’ the woman’s name badge reads. Elizabeth is going to make coffee happen, and in Darcy’s eyes that makes her a goddess.

Darcy tucks herself into a quiet corner of the crowded coffee shop to wait for her drink. The air is heavy with the soothing smell of freshly-ground coffee beans, and she inhales deeply. Her limbs are sluggish and her eyes gritty from lack of sleep—Jane’s couch is exactly as uncomfortable as it looks. She’s in dire need of caffeine, but a trip to Starbucks today was inevitable, regardless of her stimulant requirements. 

Normally she gets her phone out while she waits, thumbing through Facebook or Twitter as she laments the fact that humanity is still yet to invent the replicator, and that it’s going to take whole _minutes_ for her order to be ready.

Today, she stares blindly at a scuffmark on the floor. 

She’s in no hurry this morning. Once she has her coffee, she’ll have no choice but to walk the last block to Stark Tower. Her job with Jane is still as awesome as ever, but being at work means talking to people and pretending she isn’t feeling wretched. It also means having to concentrate on the task at hand while trying to keep her personal problems crammed into a little box in the back of her mind.

JARVIS, Tony Stark’s A.I., would have her back, at least. He’s always happy to fulfil her odd requests. Maybe she could ask him to take Jane’s messages for the day, and to let her know when anyone was approaching her desk so she could sneak away before they got there. 

That still wouldn’t completely negate the need for human interaction, but at least she’d have a massive coffee to hide behind for the next couple of hours. Darcy always makes her latte last as long as possible, taking little sips and lingering over it until the dregs at the bottom are barely even tepid. She’s ordered the largest size, but that doesn’t mean she won’t be disappointed when it’s finished.

A massive, over-sweetened coffee is her go-to whenever life is getting her down. She always orders it with skim milk, though she has no idea whether it actually makes much difference to the calorie count of the syrup-laden beverage. She hears her mother’s voice in her head, regardless. _‘Now dear, those hips are wide enough already, don’t you think?’_

Her mother is 900 miles away, but those words still dog her. On a good day, she crushes them under her heel and keeps walking, embracing her Marilyn Munroe curves, but today is more of a Roseanne Barr type of day. There’s no way she’s not having her goddamn coffee, though. 

“Venti skinny hazelnut latte for Darcy!” shouts the other barista. It’s the same lanky, bored-looking guy from yesterday, the one with dyed-black bangs that hang over one eye. He never smiles, apparently, but he makes a kick-ass latte.

She shuffles her way through the throng of patrons, mumbling, “Sorry,” every time her bulky shoulder bag accidentally jostles someone.

When Darcy finally gets to the counter, she claims her drink, wrapping both hands possessively around the tall cardboard cup. She takes a sip straight away, then winces as the scalding liquid sears the tip of her tongue. 

“Rookie mistake, Lewis. You know better than that,” she mutters to herself.

The drone of peak hour traffic fills her ears as she steps outside into a stream of briefcases and blank expressions. With a sigh, she starts the trudge to Stark Tower.

In less than a week, her relationship with her two super hot roommates has graduated from perfectly platonic to totally screwed up, and she didn’t even see it coming. She feels like her heart is being torn in half, and she doubts even JARVIS could formulate a solution to the mess she’s in.

 

_One week earlier..._

“I just had an awesome idea,” says Darcy, accepting another freshly washed dinner plate from Steve’s sudsy hand and drying it with a dish towel. Technically, she doesn’t have to help with the dishes tonight if she doesn’t want to. She was the one who cooked, and according to the ‘Steve Rogers’ Guide to Apartment Sharing,’ that grants her exemption from clean-up duty.   
There is, however, the matter of the minor food fight that broke out during the preparation of said meal, which she possibly initiated (reports vary on that particular detail) and definitely perpetuated. Darcy and Bucky only adhere to the ‘Steve Rogers’ Guide to Apartment Sharing’ about seventy percent of the time, anyway. 

“Oh yeah?” says Bucky. He’s down on one knee, sweeping up stray spirals of dry pasta with a dustpan and brush. “Is it as awesome as your idea to put a handful of pasta down my pants?” he asks drily.

“Even better,” she replies breezily. As much as he might like to pretend, he never actually gets mad at her. “You should talk to Tony about replaceable hands for your cybernetic arm. You know, like, a dust buster attachment,” she says, with a lazy smirk. 

Steve doesn’t take his eyes off the saucepan he’s washing, but Darcy could swear his mouth twitches with amusement. Bucky just gives her the side eye. 

“How long have the three of us been living together?” he asks.

“Six months,” Steve supplies, setting the clean pot on the drying rack.

“And to think, we barely knew you at the start. Feels more like years.” Bucky picks up one of the pieces of pasta and slides his gaze thoughtfully back and forth between it and Darcy, like he’s contemplating pegging it at her head.

“No, dude, seriously, let's not start that again,” Darcy says. “We'll be cleaning up for the rest of the night. On the other hand, if you had a dust buster attachment for your arm, you’d been done by now. See what I'm saying?” she says, spreading her hands like she’s making perfect sense. “In fact, why stop there? Consider the possibilities. You could have a detachable waffle iron, a leaf blower—hey!” she cries as a pasta spiral bounces off her forehead.

 

For Darcy, the decision to move into the Upper East Side apartment had been one of finances and logistics. Even on a healthy SHIELD pay check, she couldn’t afford to stay where she was, plus the commute was more painful than listening to Coulson talk about evacuation protocols. The place the boys had found is conveniently located between Stark Tower and SHIELD headquarters. She spends most of her time in the Tower, but she’s sometimes required at SHIELD, and while Steve and Bucky are usually at headquarters, they often have business at Stark Tower too.

She’d wondered what she was getting herself into, moving in with the anachronism twins—she’d had serious concerns about the playing of big band music and the potential for complaints about ‘kids these days’—but things had turned out better than she ever could have predicted. Darcy and Bucky get on like a house on fire, seeing as they’re both capable of being outrageous flirts, and Steve does an admirable job of making sure the apartment doesn’t descend into complete anarchy, while being surprisingly easy-going about their occasional shenanigans. Case in point, tonight’s kitchen tomfoolery. By the end, Steve had been right in the thick of it, using a frypan as a shield and hurling pasta like nobody’s business. 

There’s something indescribably awesome about seeing the proper, upstanding Captain Rogers being a bit of a doofus. It’s her personal mission to coax him into their hijinks wherever possible. There’s nothing wrong with being reserved, but it’s never far from her mind that what Steve and Bucky do for a day job is pretty intense, and no matter how well adjusted they might seem, they’ve experienced some truly crazy shit in their lives. If she can give them the opportunity to blow off a little steam, it’s the least she can do.

She gives herself triple points if she can actually get Steve to laugh out loud—because a LOL from Steve is almost as rare as Barton missing a target—but she suspects a good chunk of the credit belongs to Bucky. The presence of a childhood friend can be the catalyst for truly impressive levels of goofballery. 

It might have started out as an arrangement of convenience, but these days it’s like one of those TV friendships where the characters are super close and always joking around, and touching each other more than normal friends ever do. Darcy would normally roll her eyes at those shows and call the writers lying liars, because real life just isn’t like that, except that now her life actually is like that, at least while she’s inside the apartment.

The three of them still have disagreements, and it doesn’t mean there aren’t still things she’d discuss with Jane and Natasha and Pepper that she’d never discuss with the boys, but rather than just being roommates, these days Steve and Bucky are more like the Athos and Porthos to her Aramis.

She still thinks the TV shows are lying liars, though, because there’s no way a friendship this awesome exists anywhere else in the world.

 

With the kitchen taken care of, Steve and Bucky go and change into their workout gear. By the time Darcy wanders into the living room with a book in one hand and a glass of chardonnay in the other, Steve is pushing the coffee table up against the wall as Bucky rolls out the sparring mat.

Darcy settles herself on the couch, well out of range of any flailing limbs, and opens her book as the boys begin to spar, something they do a couple of times a week. She’s reading _Jane Eyre_ for the one hundred and eleventieth time and, while it’s one of her favourites, her gaze keeps straying from the page. It occurs to her that it’s probably unfair, pitting Charlotte Bronte against two hot guys getting physical in the same room, and eventually she gives up, letting the book fall closed in her lap as she sips her wine and watches the live entertainment instead.   
Both men move easily in each other’s personal space, Steve neatly blocking Bucky’s punches and dodging his kicks, then throwing in a few moves of his own, only to have them smoothly deflected.

As Bucky ducks and weaves, his black tank reveals glimpses of the seam where his cybernetic arm is sealed to his skin. She’s used to the sight of it by now but, joking aside, she still thinks it’s an impressive piece of technology. For all the Iron Man suit can do, it can’t knit metal to muscles.

The intensity of the workout is picking up. Bucky has a light sheen of sweat on his chest, and Steve’s too-tight white shirt is darker at the arm pits, the back sticking to his damp skin. Those shirts are the icing on the Steve Rogers cake as far as Darcy is concerned. He’s already eighteen out of ten on the Ryan Seascrest scale of hotness, and the way those shirts do absolutely nothing to hide the play of every muscle underneath is practically pornographic. 

Darcy can’t begin to fathom why he wears his shirts so tight, though Bucky has a theory that maybe Steve just never quite got the hang of buying clothes for Captain America’s body. It’s as good an explanation as any. She has a list of snarky tight shirt comments as long as Thor’s hair, but she’s never used a single one, because if Steve ever got self-conscious and stopped wearing them, it would be a sad day for all mankind.

Bucky can’t compare to Steve when it comes to height or bicep girth, but then no one can—except Thor, and he’s not even human so that doesn’t count—but Bucky is handsome in a rugged way that Steve has no hope of emulating. His dark hair falls over his forehead as he spars, and his stubble is long enough by this point in the day that it gives him a deliciously scruffy look. The apartment may be in a great location, but the views are its best feature. 

It occurs to her briefly that maybe it’s inappropriate to be ogling her roommates, but then she remembers that ogling hot guys is kind of her thing, and that she doesn’t like to get bogged down by words like “appropriate.” 

Eventually, though, Darcy starts to get bored with sitting on the couch by herself. “Are you guys nearly done? There’s TV that needs us to watch it,” she says, swirling her wine in its glass.  
They seem to be up to the ‘take the other guy down by any means necessary’ part of the workout. More hits are finding their mark as they really start to test each other, but there’s still the odd friendly jibe flying back and forth between them.

“Five more minutes,” Steve puffs. He only glances at Darcy for a fraction of a second, but Bucky takes advantage of that moment to hook his calf behind Steve’s knee and swipe his leg out from under him. Steve keeps his grip on Bucky’s arm and they both go down onto the mat with a substantial thwack, Bucky’s full weight on top of Steve.

There was a time when Darcy would have cringed in sympathy and asked if they were okay. These days, she doesn’t even flinch. To be honest, she’s more worried about the structural integrity of the floorboards.

“That was a dirty play, Barnes,” Steve chastises, but he’s grinning. Bucky’s grinning right back, already using his advantage to rain light-hearted blows down on Steve. 

“And Rogers is down for the count!” Bucky says, like he’s commentating a wrestling match. Steve is playing along, and the whole thing is quickly becoming a parody of itself. Just moments ago, Darcy was watching two super soldiers training in earnest; now she’s looking at a couple of boys roughhousing on the floor. 

She watches them with a smile, though the amusement is fast being replaced by something else. There’s a pleasant curl in her stomach as she watches them on the floor together, biceps flexing, hands all over each other. They roll several times, one getting the upper hand and then the other, until they’re completely off the mat.

Suddenly, everything goes still. Steve is on top of Bucky, using both hands to pin Bucky’s wrists on either side of his head. Bucky’s gone slack, but Steve’s arms and shoulders are corded with tensed muscles. He still has a leg wrapped around one of Bucky’s from the move he just used to flip them over. Their eyes are locked on each other and their breathing is rough. Darcy’s breaths aren’t exactly coming smooth either, and for a long moment no one moves.

Darcy wishes she could pull a Nightcrawler and teleport out of the room in a puff of smoke. Or without the smoke, that would be fine too. Not that she’s not extremely keen to see what happens next, but the chances of this little “moment” playing out like she wants it to are already slim, and she suspects her presence in the room is only lowering the odds.

Steve and Bucky have been dancing around each other for months now. When they’d first moved in together, she and Bucky had flirted up such a storm, Darcy was sure it would lead to something. Eventually, she came to realise it was all just a bit of harmless fun. That was the night that, while Steve was away on a mission, she and Bucky had a few beers and he’d confided about his feelings for Steve. 

Bucky and Steve had both known since their army days that there was something between them, but the times being what they were, they didn’t dare do anything about it. In Darcy’s opinion, there are still far too many redneck homophobes on the planet, but from Bucky’s perspective, the world is more accepting than he ever imagined it could be, and he sees no reason they should have to keep holding their cards so close to the chest.

Unfortunately, trying to get Steve to talk about any of it is like pulling teeth. In the one conversation Bucky had managed to coax out of him, Steve hadn’t denied his feelings, but he’d asked for more time to get used to the idea of a physical relationship, while admitting that he’s still attracted to women. Darcy suspects this last part is probably one of their biggest stumbling blocks. It’s much easier to put off taking the hard road when the easy one is still right in front of you. 

Apparently, the conversation had started off really well, although Darcy had only been privy to its fiery conclusion, which she’d had no context for at the time. It was a few weeks after they’d all moved in together, and Darcy had come home from drinks with Jane, Pepper and Natasha to hear raised voices coming from Steve’s room. She’d identified Steve’s authoritative tone first.

“I’m in the public eye. I need to be careful—”

Bucky had cut him off. “Why would you give a fuck what they think?” To this day she’d never heard him sound as pissed off as he did that night. “They could give you all the money in this cashed-up world, all their modern miracles, and it wouldn’t even come close to repaying you for the lives you’ve saved. You don’t owe them a goddamn thing.”

“You know damn well it’s not that simple.” The volume of Steve’s voice had risen to match Bucky’s.

“It’s as simple as you want to make it. Tell me you don’t deserve this,” Bucky challenged.

“We don’t always get what we deserve,” Steve answered grimly.

By that point, Darcy had been running through her options. As much as she might be tempted to stay and eavesdrop, her mother had taught her better. The way she saw it, she had three choices. One, sneak off to her bedroom and let them continue their argument in private, two, wade right on in there and see if she could sort things out, or three, start banging around in the kitchen to alert them to the fact that they’re no longer home alone. She’d just decided on option three when Steve came storming out of his room. His stride faltered when he saw her, the furrows in his brow growing even deeper.

“Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth,” Bucky spat, following him out of the room, and then it was Bucky’s turn to pull up short at the sight of her.

“Lover’s quarrel?” Darcy said, in a feeble attempt to lighten the mood. On reflection, she’s kind of surprised no one ever presented her with some sort of ‘Foot in Mouth’ award for that spectacular gaffe, not that she could have known at the time that she was saying the absolute worst thing possible.

Steve strode past her without a word, grabbing his keys and closing the front door firmly behind him. Even though his thunderous mood was practically rolling off him in waves, he still didn’t slam the door. 

Bucky showed no such restraint, and when he flung his bedroom door closed behind him, the force reverberated through the entire apartment. Darcy stood cringing in the deafening silence that followed. It had been hours before Steve returned, and the tension in the air was palpable for days afterwards.

That was a long time ago, and while there hasn’t been another blow up like that since, Darcy’s much better at smoothing the waters these days. She suspects her skills in that area are about to be called on again.

The silence stretches on, but even Darcy can feel the tension draining out of the moment. Steve glances back over his shoulder at her, the colour obvious in his cheeks, then looks away again quickly. He releases Bucky’s wrists and stands up. 

“Enough horsing around,” he says, extending a hand and pulling Bucky to his feet. “I have a file I need to read.” Then he runs away. More specifically, he heads to his room without making eye contact with either of them, but it’s the same thing.

Bucky flops down on the couch next to Darcy as they hear Steve’s bedroom door close. Bucky’s hair is all mussed up, and he looks defeated in a way that has nothing to do with losing their little play-fight. 

Darcy huffs out a sigh of commiseration. She scoots over, closing the gap between them and slipping an arm through his, hugging it to her side. “You know that was an improvement, right? He was having feeling-y feelings and he only freaked out a tiny bit,” she says, emphasising the ‘tiny’ by holding up her thumb and forefinger less than an inch apart.

“I know,” Bucky agrees, sounding tired. He rubs his face with his hand and sighs. 

“In fact,” she says, “I bet he’s not freaking out at all. Reading a file, my ass. Unless that’s some old timey metaphor for jacking off?”

That earns her a grudging smile. 

“I bet if I hadn’t been here he totally would have made a move,” she says, with more confidence than she feels.

“I don’t know, doll. I’m not sure what it’s going to take,” he says, as he runs a hand over his hair in a slapdash attempt to tidy it. She releases his arm and combs her fingers deftly through the parts he’s missed, and like a patient Labrador, he sits still and lets her do it. 

“Such a shame you can’t just get him drunk and have your way with him. I’m sure he’d come around if he knew what he was missing out on,” she says, with an eyebrow waggle worthy of Tony Stark.

“You have a devious mind, Lewis,” he says, which is hardly fair, because he’s at least as devious as her.

“Seriously though, he seems so close to taking that final step, there’s got to be something we can do to help him,” she says. It’s like some TV drama where her two favourite characters are in love but can never quite manage to hook up. Some days she just wants to shout, ‘Sort your shit out and kiss already!’

“Well,” Bucky drawls, “I have an idea on that front, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Oh? Try me,” she says.


	2. You Wouldn't Believe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case, I should mention that right at the end of the chapter there’s a very brief and non-graphic reference to a friend of Darcy’s who committed suicide. If you think this might be triggering for you, just skip the last few paragraphs.

“Oh? Try me,” says Darcy. 

A fighter at heart, she should have known Bucky would have a plan of attack. He flashes her one of his trademark playboy smiles, just like the one that won her over the first day they met. It’s not as blatant as Tony Stark’s, or as cheesy as Howard’s, from what she’d seen in photos. There’s a warmth, an honesty, in it, and it baffles her how Steve has resisted him this long.

“I thought the three of us could, you know...” He trails off, cocking a ‘how ‘bout it?’ eyebrow.

Darcy’s disbelief erupts in a little snort. “Fondue?” 

Ever since Steve had shared the anecdote about how he’d misunderstood Howard Stark’s invitation to Peggy to join him for some ‘late night fondue,’ the euphemism had been cemented into the vocabulary of the household. Not that the three of them needed any more in-jokes.

“I said you wouldn’t like it,” he says, smiling easily, like he never really meant it anyway. He picks up the bottle of water Steve abandoned on the small table at the end of the couch and takes a sip.

“Is there any logic at all behind the idea, or are you just trying to get your hands on this breathtaking rack before checking yourself into a breast-free zone?” she says, waving a hand in the direction of her chest.

“There is that,” he smiles, granting her the compliment of a brief but appreciative leer. They’d already established in previous conversations that Bucky, like Steve, still had a thing for girls. She could have figured that out for herself, though, the way she’s always catching them checking her out. Not in a creeper kind of way, just in a ‘those boobs are so awesome I can’t help myself’ kind of way. It’s a total ego boost, so Darcy doesn’t mind. It’s not like she doesn’t do her fair share of gawking at butts and biceps in return, she’s just better at not getting caught in the act.

Bucky leans forward, elbows on his knees, and for a moment he’s not quite so cocky. “I just thought if there was a girl there the first time he might feel more comfortable, like it was less... gay, or something.” Bucky fiddles with the water bottle, avoiding Darcy’s eyes. “I just thought it might ease the transition.” He takes another sip.

He lives in a quiet agony of waiting, and it kills her to see it, but her desire to give sympathy is stronger than his need to receive it, so she holds back for now.

“Have you ever done anything like that before?” she asks, because they discovered many beers ago that there are very few topics either of them aren’t prepared to discuss, at least with each other.

“Couple of times.” The quirk of his lips may be small, but it’s smug.

“You little slut,” says Darcy, appreciatively.

“What choice did I have?” he says, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “I was always lining up double dates for me and Steve. Half the time Steve would bail, so I’d be left with two girls who were looking for a fun night out. Every now and then they were...” he swirls the water around in the half-empty bottle, “happy to share.”

Darcy shakes her head, smirking. “Do you think Steve would even go for it?” she asks.

“I don’t know. Probably not,” he says, with a small hitch of one shoulder.

Her initial get-out-of-town reaction is already beginning to fade, making way for her imagination to start conjuring up the possibilities. The obscenely hot possibilities.

There aren’t many things on Darcy’s bucket list yet, but a threesome is one of them, and one involving two buff guys is the jackpot of jackpots. It’s the sort of offer that doesn’t come up every day. In fact, it’s probably much closer to the ‘once in a lifetime’ end of the scale.

She doesn’t usually fantasise about people she knows, at least not since that time she came perilously close to calling one of her college professors ‘darling’. She’d managed to turn it into ‘dude’ at the last second, but even that had earned her a weird look. When it comes to her roommates, though, she’s broken her own rule on more than one occasion. The prospect of it happening in real life is already playing havoc with her pulse. 

One corner of her brain is calmly informing her that if she thinks this through, she’ll no doubt come up with some really good reasons why she shouldn’t do it. But there’s another, louder, voice in her head that’s quoting her personal motto like there was no other sensible answer. _Carpe diem! Are you really going to pass up an offer like this?_

The idea sounds like the plot to a bad porno, but she’s actually on board with Bucky’s reasoning. She can’t even imagine what a struggle it is for Steve to reprogram his views after being raised in such a bigoted time. He’s come a long way on his own, but she understands his hesitation in taking the final step into making it something physical. When the day needs saving, Steve is always the one leading the charge, but maybe in this case he needs someone else to show him the way.

It’s entirely likely he wouldn’t go along with it anyway, but the possibility of seeing her two best friends finally happy together is enough to close the deal for her. She does one last check to make sure the chardonnay is just cheering her on, not putting words in her mouth, before she says, “Worth a shot though, right?”

Bucky’s head snaps up. “You’re serious?” He’s too cool to let his eyes bug out of his head, but only just.

She puts her empty wine glass down. “Why not? It’s been way too long since I got laid, and if my sexy lady parts can facilitate your future together, how can I say no?” she says, like it’s no big deal, though a few butterflies take flight in her stomach the moment she actually agrees to it out loud.

He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re the best, Darce.”

“Can I have that in writing? On your forehead?” she asks sweetly.

“Don’t push your luck,” he says, but his eyes are full of warmth.

“So, when are we doing this, then?” she asks, stealing the water from him and taking a sip in an effort to distract herself from picturing... everything.

“How ‘bout tomorrow night, before we lose our nerve?” He rubs the thumb of one hand into the palm of the other, and it strikes Darcy as oddly amusing that this is the thing that makes his steady sniper’s hands twitch. “You know there’s no way Steve will let himself say yes if we ask him outright, so how do you reckon we get this thing started?”

“I have a few thoughts on that, so don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” she says, patting his hair, because being a smartass seems like the only way to keep this conversation from becoming totally awkward. “Just play it cool and, you know, make sure you wash yourself before I have to touch you,” she says, crinkling her nose at him as she stands up.

“Always the wise-ass,” he mutters, as she heads for the kitchen, grinning.

There’s still the matter of the embarrassed super soldier hiding in his bedroom, which Darcy would have dealt with even if there wasn’t an extra incentive now to clear the air between them all. She makes a huge batch of popcorn the traditional way—in the frypan, not the microwave—because that’s how Steve prefers it, then goes and bangs loudly on his door.

“I’m about to put on the next episode of _Firefly_ , and you know how uptight I am about you guys watching them in the correct order,” she shouts through the door. “You’ve got two minutes to get your butt out here, no excuses!”

She continues on to the living room without waiting for a reply. She gets there to find that Bucky has returned the coffee table to its usual location in front of the couch and rolled the mat away. She hands him the massive bowl of popcorn and sits down on one side of him, leaving space on the other side for Steve. 

Bucky digs a hand into the bowl. “Which episode are we watching now?” he asks, like their previous conversation never happened. Darcy’s got to admit that sort of attitude is probably the best way to get through the next twenty-four hours, so she decides to put the whole thing out of her head for the rest of the evening.

“It’s called ‘Jaynestown’, it’s hilarious,” she says, as she clicks through to the right spot on the DVD menu. Steve appears in the doorway then, and Darcy’s gaze snags on him in a way it hasn’t in a long time. Her eyes trail the line of his jaw, the shape of his shoulders, the rise of his abs under that tight goddamn shirt, seeing him with fresh eyes in light of the possibility of having him in her bed. Then she remembers two seconds ago, when she decided she wasn’t going to think about all that right now.

The poor guy still looks a tad uncomfortable in his own skin, so Darcy hits play on the remote and says, “Hurry up and sit down—can you get the lights?—and no talking,” giving him all the excuses he needs to take his spot on the couch without having to say anything or make eye contact with anyone.

 

By the end of the episode, Darcy’s feet are in Steve’s lap—and her knees, therefore, in Bucky’s—because she discovered a few months back that Steve gives truly spectacular foot massages. She’d come home from a particularly hectic day involving an inordinate amount of traipsing back and forth between Stark Tower and SHIELD headquarters, whinging about her sore feet. Steve had offered to give them a rub for her, saying something about how he used to do that for his mother after her long shifts as a nurse.

It turns out a massage from Steve’s big, strong hands is even better than peanut butter M&Ms, and he’s always happy to oblige whenever she wiggles her toes at him and gives him the ‘pwetty pweese’ eyes. By the time the episode is finished, Steve’s palm is resting idly on top of her ankle and Darcy is feeling utterly boneless. 

The vibe is pretty chilled out all the way around, from what she can tell. Steve and Bucky are both slouched back on the couch, looking as relaxed in each others’ company as they would on any other day. The bowl of popcorn lies abandoned on the coffee table, nothing left in it except a few unpopped kernels, because the boys consume popcorn like they do all other foodstuffs—in vast quantities.

Bucky yawns, one hand over his mouth, the other stretching over his head. “I’m going to have a shower.” 

He looks at Darcy, waiting for her to move her legs, but she just blinks lazily at him like she has no idea what he’s waiting for. Their little standoff lasts about five seconds before Bucky scoops his hands under her knees and dumped her legs unceremoniously out of his way. He saunters off towards the bathroom, dragging his shirt over his head as he goes. Darcy doesn’t have to look at Steve to know they’re both watching him leave. 

Sometimes she forgets the level of familiarity between the three of them isn’t exactly normal. She doesn’t even behave like this with her brothers, usually only boyfriends or guys she’s totally hitting on. It’s just something that evolved with the friendship, probably perpetuated by the fact that Darcy tends to get a bit handsy with the people she’s close to, and the way she and Bucky were playing it fast and loose with comfort zones back in the beginning, before she’d known about his feelings for a certain American hero. 

Perhaps what’s even stranger is the way they all tone it right back in the presence of other people. It’s like the apartment is their cosy little sanctuary, where normal rules don’t apply. She wonders if Bucky would have even come up with his little plan if the three of them weren’t already so comfortable with each other physically. 

Once Bucky’s out of sight, she turns to Steve. “What do you reckon? There’s a TiVo’d episode of M*A*S*H there, should we watch that?”

“Sure,” he replies, lifting one arm to rest in on the back of the couch. She suspects the movement is entirely unconscious, but that just makes it all the sweeter. She gets the episode playing, then scoots over and curls up against the side that’s now free. He wraps his arm around her and she puts her hand over the top of his, tucking it in close around her side. It’s a habit they got into over the winter, because Steve is like a massive hot water bottle, and she can never get warm enough in January. It’s April now, but whatever.

The M*A*S*H theme tune is just music, no singing, but she knows the lyrics to the song and a sweet sadness wells up in her chest as she recalls them. 

_Suicide is painless_   
_It brings on many changes_

Even though it’s been a couple of years since it happened, the word ‘suicide’ is still synonymous in her mind with her friend Wendy. Wendy had been gay, with right-wing Christian parents, and while losing her has been far from painless, it’s taught Darcy to make sure that the special people in her life know how much they mean to her.

She only hesitates for a moment before she looks up at Steve and says, “You know you’re perfect just the way you are, right? You’re the most perfect man I’ve ever met.” A shadow flickers across his eyes, which Darcy takes to mean that he knows exactly what part of him she’s referring to. She’s passionate about LGBT rights, especially since what happened to Wendy, and she’d talk Steve’s ear off about it if she thought it would do any good, but she picked up pretty early on that it only makes him uncomfortable. She’s had to settle for being supportive but vague in her comments—and occasionally cranking ‘Born This Way’ by Lady Gaga and pretending she didn’t realise anyone else could hear it through her bedroom door.

She gives him a peck on the cheek that has absolutely nothing to do with her hopes for the following evening, and puts her head on his shoulder. 

“Love you, big guy,” she says, because she really does. 

After a moment, she feels the gentle pressure of a kiss on her hair. 

“Love you, too, Darce,” he says, his voice rough.


	3. When I Hear Songs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you’re interested, the title of the story and the chapter names are from ‘Some Nights’ by Fun., which I listened to a _lot_ while writing this story. And yeah, sorry about the short chapter, I’m really having trouble figuring out where to put the chapter breaks in this fic!

The next day, Darcy arrives at work to find that Jane is just the right amount of distracted—not so out of it that she forgets to eat the sandwich Darcy leaves under her nose, but on enough of a science high from her latest discovery that she doesn’t notice Darcy’s own brief lapses in concentration.

Darcy is halfway through entering a long series of numbers into a spreadsheet, a task that gives her the urge to gouge her eyes out with a spoon at the best of times, when she realises she’s spent the last two minutes picturing Steve and Bucky shirtless and kissing. An extremely pleasant pastime, to be sure, but not exactly conducive to numerical accuracy. She puffs out a sigh and scrolls back up to the top of the list to recheck all the figures.

Her roommates are aware of her penchant for guy-on-guy action, mainly because it’s physically impossible for her to sit quietly through a whole episode of _True Blood_ and all its homoerotic subtext or, more often, straight out text, but it’s one of those things she generally keeps to herself. Not because she feels weird about it, but because most people just don’t get it. Case in point, the night it had come up after far too many cocktails with Jane, Natasha and Pepper. 

She can’t even remember who’d proposed the discussion topic ‘weird things that turn you on,’ although that totally sounds like something drunk-Pepper would suggest, now that she thinks about it. When Darcy had freely volunteered that there’s nothing better than gay porn, Jane had squinted at her in confusion. 

“Like... lesbians? Oh my god, Darcy, I didn’t know. How did I not know you were a—?” 

“Calm your tits, genius. How many times have you seen me checking out Thor’s ass? Not exactly the MO of a lesbian,” Darcy had replied.

“Oh yeah,” said Jane, grinning sheepishly and taking a slurp of her margarita.

Despite Darcy’s compelling and highly detailed descriptions of the awesomeness of two guys getting it on (in hindsight, she feels kind of sorry for anyone in the bar who overheard the conversation) Jane and Pepper continued to shake their heads and laugh good-naturedly in disbelief. Natasha, however, had sported a smirk that had Darcy seriously re-evaluating the significance of the glances that were exchanged whenever Coulson passed Clint and Natasha in the halls of SHIELD headquarters.

Darcy still didn’t think her answer was anywhere near as outrageous as Jane’s.

“Stripy football socks.”

“Are you sure you heard the question right over the music?” Darcy said. “Things that turn you _on_.”

“No, I know!” Jane laughed, blushing and covering her face with the cocktail menu. “I don’t know what it is about them, I just...” She dissolved into giggles, and all four of them were laughing by then.

“You make Thor wear _football socks_ in the sack?” Darcy said. “Dating a Norse god: you’re doing it wrong.”

Darcy grins to herself. That had been one epic bender. The hangover the next day had been pretty epic too. 

She laces her fingers behind her back and extends her arms in a stretch as she checks the time in the bottom corner of the computer screen. She stifles a groan. The only way this day could go any slower is if she was in a SHIELD code of conduct seminar. Agent Hill’s bad ass levels are through the roof, but put her in front of a powerpoint and the result is coma-inducing.  
The room is quiet, except for Jane’s short flurries of typing and clicking, interspersed with long periods where the scientist glares silently at the information on her screen, as if that will help her ferret out its secrets.

The silence makes it harder to ignore the little voice in her head—she’s thinking of naming it Buzz Killington, thank you _Family Guy_ —who keeps suggesting that maybe leaping into bed with her two best friends is going to end up being more complicated than it seems. But she’s already come to the conclusion that, if the goal is to help Steve acclimate, then any actual sex is probably taking things a bit far. More likely it’s just going to be a bit of a grope-fest—not that that won’t still be all kinds of awesome.

She tells Buzz to take a hike as she recalls the last lines from the _Firefly_ episode they watched last night, because obviously the answers to all of life’s questions can be found within one little season of a cancelled sci-fi western.

“Ain’t about you, Jayne, it’s about what they need,” she murmurs to herself in a western drawl.

“Huh?” says Jane, looking up from her monitor on the other side of the room. 

“What? Oh, nothing, don’t worry about it,” says Darcy, and Jane goes back to staring down the graph on her screen like it’s hiding something from her.

Darcy lifts her eyes to the ceiling. “JARVIS, my man, I need some fat beats up in here. Help a sister out?”

A selection of her favourite playlists jump up onto the screen for her perusal. “Anything for you, Ms Lewis,” comes the delightfully British reply.

 

That evening, Darcy puts her plan into action, breaking out a round of beers and a pack of cards once the dinner plates are cleared away. Steve still enjoys the odd drink, even though it has no affect on him, and the beers are purely to give the evening a bit of a party vibe anyway. She has no intention of getting anyone drunk, though she figures a dash of Dutch courage can’t hurt under the circumstances. She suspects Bucky agrees, by the appreciative press of his fingers over hers when she passes him his drink. 

To Darcy, card games had always been something you resort to when the power’s out, not something you do when you could just as easily be on the internet, but Steve and Bucky had managed to change her mind. The three of them pass plenty of evenings like this, playing games and having a few drinks, and it’s way more fun than Darcy would have thought possible for something that doesn’t require electricity.

After several rounds of Gin and a few raucous games of Snap, she collects the empty bottles and goes to get three more. She’s pulling them out of the refrigerator when Bucky catches up with her in the kitchen.

“Hey,” he says, slipping a hand onto her hip as she turns to face him. She lets the door swing closed behind her. After the cool air of the refrigerator, her skin soaks up the warmth from his hand.

He leans in close so Steve won’t overhear them in the next room. “You still sure about this?” 

His voice is a low rumble, and the anticipation in it knocks her pulse rate up a notch. 

She rises up on her toes and lets her breath ghost over his ear. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet, Sergeant,” she teases. 

He chuckles, and she feels it in the puff of air against her cheek, in the vibration through his chest where she’s pressed herself against him.

“No fear of that, doll.” 

She’s sure there are a thousand very good and feminist reasons why she should hate it when he calls her that, but instead it just makes her knees turn to honey. She rocks back onto her heels, letting the playful smile linger on her lips. 

For a long moment it looks like he’s going to say something, but eventually he just gives a small nod. “Alright then, let’s get this show on the road.” He relieves her of two of the beers. “Ladies first,” he says, ushering her back into the living room. 

Steve is where they left him, sitting at the dining table, shuffling the deck with the fluid motions of a card sharp. 

“Your turn to choose, Darcy. What should we play next?” Steve asks, as he accepts the beer Bucky holds out for him.

“I’m not playing any more Snap with the cyborg here,” Darcy says, bumping Bucky with her hip before taking a seat at the table. “I’m always afraid you’re going to moosh one of my fingers. I want to play Truth-or-Dare Black Jack.”

“That’s not a real game,” Steve informs her, like he always does.

“Just because I invented it doesn’t mean it isn’t real,” she replies archly. 

“Okay, but this time, no dares that involve leaving the apartment,” Steve says, in his captain-y voice. “Mrs Foster still hasn’t stopped complaining since the ruckus out in the hall last time.”

Darcy bites her lip and grins, Bucky snorts outright and finally Steve gives in to a smirk as the three of them recall the spectacle of Darcy and Bucky in their underwear singing ‘When the Saints Go Marching In’ at the top of their lungs outside in the hallway. 

“Who does she think she is anyway, Simon Cowell?” Darcy says, as she sweeps her cards off the table.

Bucky and Steve share a sceptical ‘I have no idea what she’s talking about’ look, and Darcy rolls her eyes. “Trust me, that was a zinger,” she assures them.

Even though some of her one-liners fall on deaf ears, there’s something special about the fact that in this apartment, if nowhere else, the past outnumbers the future two to one. She’s happy to be the odd one out occasionally if it gives them the chance to feel a little less disconnected.

She takes a look at her hand. A pair of kings. On the outside she’s all poker face, but internally, she’s doing a little fist pump. Not only is it a kick-ass hand, but she decides she’s going to take it as a good omen too. She’s still got pretty serious doubts about being able to get Steve on board with their little plan, but damned if she’s not going to give it her best shot.


	4. I Always Win

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is why I shouldn’t write smut. Apologies, my lovelies, I hope I haven’t done too terrible a job!

Three rounds into Truth-or-Dare Black Jack, Darcy dares Bucky and Steve to let her pluck their eyebrows.

“You know there’s no way out of this, right?” She drags Steve gleefully down the hallway to her room, Bucky trailing behind. “You wimp out on this tiny bit of man-scaping and I’ll never let you forget it, I don’t care how many supervillians you slay.” 

They both look about as impressed as if she’d told them she’s going to dress them in drag and put the photos on the internet, though by now it would seem Bucky’s twigged that this is all part of the plan and is keeping his protestations minimal. 

“Sit here,” she instructs Steve, giving him a gentle push backwards until he’s perched on the edge of her cluttered dressing table. 

“You cleaned your room,” says Steve, with the genuine surprise of someone who’d given up all hope.

She glances around as Bucky sits down on the bed. There’s still a small pile of cushions, books and unsorted mail in one corner, but she shoved most of the stuff that was on the floor into the closet that morning. The pieces of mismatched furniture are free of the articles of dirty clothing that usually adorn them, and the bed is freshly made with clean sheets, the purple quilt pulled up neatly to the level of the pillows. 

“Um, yeah, sort of,” she says, rummaging around in the sea of make-up and jewellery that still swamps her dressing table. She finally locates the tweezers behind a row of perfume bottles. She fishes them out from their hiding place and turns to Steve.

He’s sitting there, waiting patiently for her, somehow still outrageously beautiful in just a soft grey tshirt and black sweat pants. She usually treats Steve’s obscenely good looks in the same way she would a movie star’s, or the lead singer of a band. She lusts from a distance, safe in the knowledge that it will never amount to anything. For one thing, she’d never do that to Bucky, but it’s not like she could picture Steve ever making a move on her anyway.

There are other times when she just has to compartmentalise, to think of him as her friend and nothing else, because she’d never be able to sit though a foot massage from him without falling to pieces if she didn’t have a way of distancing herself from his hotness. But neither of those mental barriers are necessary tonight, and her heart rate starts to climb as she lets the full force of her attraction rise to the surface. 

It’s the broad shoulders that really do her in, and the way his chest tapers to that narrow waist. She saw him walk out of the bathroom in just a towel once, and it nearly made her swoon like a Victorian heroine. He smells faintly of soap right now, actually, with a slight hint of fabric softener from his clean clothes. 

He’s so close and so real, and if he’s willing, she’s about to have the chance to act on the feelings she usually keeps such a tight, heavy lid on. If he’s not, though, he could be about to get majorly offended by what she and Bucky are proposing.

Darcy pinches the tweezers together in her hand a few times, listening to the muted tap of metal on metal. Things are either about to go really well, or really, really badly. She mentally crosses all her fingers as she moves to stand between Steve’s parted knees. It’s like the air around him is charged with static electricity, the way her skin tingles the closer she gets. She hasn’t even touched him yet, but she has an urge to, as if to earth the charge. 

In this position, she’s slightly taller than him. Steve’s hair, now level with her line of sight, is just starting to fall forward over his forehead. She prefers it that way, rather than perfectly slicked down. She hooks a finger under his chin and gently tips his head up, then smooths the pad of her thumb across one blonde eyebrow as if contemplating where to start, although she has no intention of plucking a single hair.

His eyelids flutter closed for a moment, drawing her attention to their fringe of dark lashes. His leg shifts slightly. The inside of his thigh brushes the outside of hers, and the tiniest shiver passes through her body, like a shockwave emanating from that one point of contact. Steve’s startlingly blue eyes open again and there’s something magnetic in them that holds her in place and keeps her from moving, from thinking. 

She’s not sure when she stopped breathing normally, but when she flicks her eyes down to his chest, she sees that it’s rising and falling with shallow breaths that mirror her own. She returns her gaze to his eyes just a moment before they slide back up from looking at her own chest. She can imagine what he saw, cleavage hitching slightly with each breath, and can hardly blame him for staring. The moment is stretching out, becoming too long to be explained away by anything other than lust. She has no idea what’s prompting him to react this way to her, of all people, but it’s useful to her cause so she doesn’t dwell.

She figures it’s now or never, and drops the tweezers back onto the table with a light clatter.

“Actually, I have a better idea,” she murmurs, and seals her lips over his. She keeps the kiss simple, just a press of lips on lips. His hand moves reflexively to her shoulder and she waits to see if he’ll push her away, but he doesn’t.

After a long moment, she pulls back to find the familiar Rogers brow furrow fighting for pride of place against eyebrows that want to climb upwards with surprise.

His hand drops away from her as he looks over her shoulder at Bucky. She can’t see what passes between them, but as the seconds tick by, his confusion dissolves into understanding. 

His eyes go back and forth between the two of them. “You want to... the three of us?” Incredulous is the only way to describe his tone.

Darcy doesn’t say anything, just worries her lip with her teeth, figuring the lack of denial is answer enough, and Bucky seems to think the same. She watches Steve carefully, steeling herself for the look of hurt or anger or disgust she probably deserves for trying to manipulate him into doing this, but it never comes. Initially her plan had been to just dive in and try to overwhelm his body before his mind had a chance to catch up, but she feels like now might be a good time for some words of reassurance.

“Steve?” she says gently, putting a hand on his shoulder as his gaze returns to her. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” she glances back at Bucky, to indicate that she speaks for him too, “and we can stop anytime, you just say the word. But if we do this, no denying yourself the things you really want, okay?” 

The pulse in her throat counts out the silent seconds that follow. Steve’s eyes cloud over and it’s like she can see the wheels turning in his head, only she has absolutely no clue which direction they’re headed in. She’s already envisioned about nine different things he might say next, all of them either unpleasant or unrealistic, when finally, his eyes focus on her again. 

He nods.

“Okay,” Darcy says, with a zen calm she doesn’t feel, and before she can think about what should come next, his mouth is on hers again. The hand that’s still on his shoulder slides up to the side of his neck before she even realises what she’s doing. 

She can’t begin to imagine what America’s golden boy is telling himself to justify this sort of debauchery, but clearly he has some kind of rationale, and now that his mind is made up he’s not holding back. Darcy would have expected him to be the go slow type, but it occurs to her now, with his warm, wet mouth on hers, that all the ‘going slow’ has already been done. 

Although there was never any intention that it would lead to this, for months now, every day has been punctuated with little touches. A hand on the small of her back, a touch on his arm, a kiss on the cheek, a hug. He rubs the knots out of her shoulders, she falls asleep with her head in his lap. She already knows the smell of his skin, the texture of his hair, the feel of the soft-hard planes and curves of his muscles though his shirt. 

His hands find her hips, and his tongue is already nudging at her lips. She parts them readily, resisting the urge to press her whole body up against him as his tongue slides against hers, and the idea of going any slower is already laughable.

She stretches out an arm, reaching for Bucky, and within moments his solid presence is behind her. She’s not really sure what she expects him to do while Steve has possession of her mouth, but he simply sweeps her hair out of the way and begins kissing the side of her neck. She keeps one arm curved behind her, hand on the side of Bucky’s thigh. The flood of sensations, on top of her sheer disbelief that this is actually happening, is making it difficult to take in all the details. 

Steve’s fingers flex on her hips as he explores Darcy’s mouth, and this is a fantasy come to life in itself, being so thoroughly kissed by Steve Rogers. Bucky skims his hands lightly down her sides until they come to rest on top of Steve’s, and at that moment Steve’s lips falters against Darcy’s. He stands up abruptly, pulling his hands away, and Darcy’s heart plummets. 

That’s it then, they were wrong. He’s not ready. 

She waits for him to say something, or to simply walk out of the room, but instead he just pulls his shirt off over his head and claims Darcy’s mouth again. Darcy’s heart starts beating again, twice as fast as before. 

Not that they’d been dawdling, but Steve removing his shirt seems to act like a starter’s pistol. She hears the soft rustle of Bucky stripping off his shirt behind her as Steve’s hands slip under the hem of her top. Bucky’s hands do the same from behind, and Darcy breaks off her kiss with Steve just long enough for Bucky to pull her top off over her head. 

Bucky runs the flat of his palms down the bare skin of her back and drops a kiss on her shoulder. Even in the midst of everything else, it’s a gentle, intimate kiss, and she’s desperate to feel his lips on hers. She knows he would agree that Steve is the priority right now, though, and she trails her fingers down Steve’s sculpted chest until she gets to the waistband of his pants. She pauses there, skimming her fingers out to his hip and back again, wondering if it’s too soon to be dispensing with pants just yet. She hooks one finger inside the waistband experimentally, and Steve slides a warm hand up to cup her breast in response. That’s all the encouragement she needs, and she pushes his sweats down so he can step out of them.

She reaches behind her for Bucky’s hip and dips a couple of fingers beneath the waistband of his cargo pants, hoping he’ll get the message, because she doesn’t like her chances of being able to undo a fly that’s behind her back. He doesn’t need to be asked twice, and she hears the metallic sound of the zipper and feels the rustle against the back of her legs as his pants fall to the ground.

Bucky makes short work of her skirt, unzipping it at the back and dragging it down over her hips. His fingers glide up to the middle of her back, lightly running back and forth over the clasp of her bra, as if asking permission to unhook it. She answers by grinding her hips back against his, and is rewarded with the sound of a barely contained groan. With one quick movement, her bra is loose and falling forward over her shoulders. Steve moves his hand away to let it drop to the floor with the rest of their abandoned clothing. All three of them are down to their underwear, and she decides that’s enough for now.

“Bed,” Darcy instructs, grateful to discover she doesn’t sound quite as breathless as she feels. She drags them both the few steps between the dressing table and the bed and pulls them down onto it with her, one either side. 

As she lies back, Steve begins dropping kisses along her jaw. He nuzzles under her chin to trail more down her neck and she tips her head to the side to give him better access, which leaves her looking at Bucky. 

Now that the mad rush to get everyone out of their clothes has been taken care of, things start to slow down a little. Bucky lies facing her, trailing his fingertips lightly up and down her arm.

His blue-grey eyes have depths she could get lost in. His gaze is lit with desire, the same way hers no doubt is, but there’s something else there too. It gives her a warm feeling in her chest, and she supposes it’s his gratitude. She wants to tell him that thanking her for this would be like paying her to take a bubble bath, but she knows better than to start talking at a time like this.

Bucky lifts a hand and smoothes his thumb gently across her cheek. The distance between their lips is only a few inches, but if Darcy moves to close the gap, she’ll dislodge Steve from where he’s working his lips and tongue along her collar bone, so she has to wait for Bucky to make the first move.

As hard as she’s tried, she’s never been able to completely let go of those first few weeks, when she and Bucky had flirted like crazy and she’d let herself tumble head first into a love she’d had no doubt was requited. When Bucky told her he was actually in love with Steve, she’d given an Oscar-winning performance, played it totally cool, like she’d never thought there was anything between her and Bucky anyway. But that night she’d taken the jar of nutella and a spoon into her room with her, and that weekend she’d slept with someone from work she probably shouldn’t have, especially seeing as it didn’t even help. She’s over her crush on him now, of course, and what’s happening here isn’t about the two of them but, silly as it is, their first kiss still feels significant somehow.

This time, his thumb traces the shape of her bottom lip. “I’ve wanted to kiss these lips since the first day I met you.” 

It’s a small compliment, really, she already knows she has a nice mouth, but hearing him say it sends a delicious shiver through her.

“Oh yeah? ‘Cause you’re taking your sweet-ass time about it,” she says, and he chuckles, but apparently he still won’t be rushed.

He runs his thumb tenderly across her cheek one more time. Then, finally, he kisses her. Where Steve’s kisses were honest and raw, Bucky’s are smooth and practiced. He’s confident but gentle, teasing her with little flicks of his tongue and waiting until she can’t bear the suspense any longer before finally dragging his tongue across her already parted lips and exploring inside her mouth. 

He trails the back of his fingers down the outside curve of her breast, then takes the weight of it in his palm. At almost the same time, Steve’s lips close over her other nipple, and she doesn’t try to stop herself from gasping into Bucky’s mouth.

Bucky is gently but thoroughly mapping the inside of her mouth with his tongue, and she could kiss him all day, but that’s not what they’re here for. With some effort, she pulls away. 

“Steve,” she murmurs, urging him back up the bed. “Kiss Bucky for me.”

Bucky props himself up on one elbow. Steve copies him, though with a slight hesitation. They lock eyes over the top of Darcy, but they still don’t move towards each other.

“For me, please,” she says again, and she knows she’s not strictly playing fair when she rubs her palm over the front of Steve’s boxer briefs and the hard flesh within as she says it. 

Their lips meet above her, and it’s even more beautiful than her fantasies. A delicious tingling warmth travels deep within her. Steve’s hand finds the back of Bucky’s neck and Darcy’s lip catches between her teeth as Bucky’s hand latches onto Steve’s hip and the kiss intensifies.

As much of a turn-on as it is to watch them, it also feels kind of strange to just stare at them while they share this intimate moment. Plus, there’s still an edge of fear in the back of her mind that Steve may baulk at any moment, so she decides it’s best for everyone if she stays busy.

Her hand is still cupped lightly over Steve, and she does the same to Bucky, palming both erections and sliding her fingers over the fabric. Steve presses against the gentle pressure, almost involuntarily. Bucky does too, but it’s a smoother, more controlled movement. She rubs more firmly, rhythmically, causing Bucky to moan softly and Steve to flex his fingers in Bucky’s hair.

She almost rolls her own hips just in response to how gorgeous they look, and even though she’s desperate to get her hands on them properly, she waits a little longer before easing her fingers under one waistband and then the other. They’re both hot and hard and Darcy has a moment of pure ‘I can’t believe this is actually happening’ as she begins stroking both of them in unison. 

Bucky’s hand leaves Steve’s hip and trails across her stomach. He slides his fingers down to the place where her underwear is getting damp, and Darcy can’t quite stop herself from lifting her hips to push against the light pressure of his fingertips. But tonight isn’t about her. She lets him do it twice more, sliding up and then down again over the fabric, shivers running deep within her each time, before taking his wrist and moving his hand back to Steve’s hip. 

She picks up the pace until their kiss actually starts to slow, as if they can’t concentrate on both things at once, but their lips never actually part. It occurs to her that maybe each of them is imagining the other’s hand instead of hers, but she’d like to see that too, so that’s okay. 

She keeps up a steady rhythm until she feels a spill of warmth over one hand, then the other. Bucky gives a quiet groan as he comes; Steve makes no sound at all. Finally, their lips break apart. Bucky slips a hand behind Steve’s head and presses their foreheads together for a long moment. Then they both collapse back onto the bed, Steve’s head on Darcy’s chest, Bucky’s forehead against her temple. 

“Holy shit,” Bucky breathes into her hair. 

“I know, right?” she smiles, and Steve hums in agreement.

For a few minutes they all lie there in silence, catching their breath. Darcy’s body is still buzzing with her own arousal, but as far as she’s concerned the night has been a complete success, so it comes as a bit of a surprise when Steve starts nuzzling at her breast. She sucks in a tiny breath as his lips find her nipple, and Bucky lifts his head at the sound. 

“What an excellent idea,” Bucky murmurs. By the time he’s trailed kisses all the way down to her other breast, Steve is already moving lower. He traces shapes with his fingertips on the skin below her bellybutton as he kisses her hip bone. She moans involuntarily at the sensation of two wet, warm mouths on her at once. 

“You guys don’t have to...” she starts to say, though she has no idea why. She doesn’t manage to finish the sentence anyway, because she’s too distracted by Bucky’s thumb and forefinger teasing her other nipple.

Steve settles between her legs. “No denying yourself the things you really want,” Steve says, kissing the inside of her thigh.

A breathy laugh escapes her. “Now, how can I argue with that?” She closes her eyes and stops trying to keep track of who exactly is doing what, and loses herself in a sea of sensations.


	5. Amazing Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have another reference to my headcanon about camping being the best way for Steve and Bucky to take a break from the 21st century. Also, for those of you playing at home, the Community episode they’re watching in this chapter is 2x21 Paradigms of Human Memory.

Once, during freshman year of college, Darcy had woken up to find a guy sleeping face down beside her in bed, with absolutely no recollection of who he was. Her mind had groped for long, empty seconds for details that were just out of reach, before it all came flooding back. Dwayne from her Social Policy class, and a late night study session that hadn’t involved nearly enough studying.

Today is nothing like that. Darcy wakes up before her alarm with full knowledge of exactly who is in her bed and how _they_ , plural, got there. 

At some point in the early hours of the morning, Bucky had reluctantly murmured something about how he and Steve should probably head back to their own rooms.

“Go back to sleep, Barnes,” she’d mumbled drowsily. She figures the more time the two of them spend in bed together, the better, even if they’re unconscious and using her as a buffer zone down the middle of the bed.

She lies between them, watching them sleep. Bucky is facing away from her, his side rising and falling almost imperceptibly with each breath, while Steve is on his stomach with one arm up over his head. It’s only now, as the sun creeps in around the edges of the curtains, that she realises she never really thought this far ahead. Things with Dwayne from Social Policy had been super awkward, they’d barely ever spoken again afterwards, but she hadn’t really liked him enough to care. She feels a cold coil of dread in her stomach at the thought of the same thing happening here.

By the time her alarm goes off, she’s decided she simply won’t let things be uncomfortable. She presses herself against Bucky’s back as she reaches over him to stop her cell from blasting out its tinny rendition of ‘Banana Pancakes’ by Jack Johnson. He hums sleepily as his eyes blink slowly open. On the other side of her, Steve rolls onto his back, stretching and yawning.

Darcy had put on some underwear during her trip to the bathroom in the middle of the night, so she only feels slightly ridiculous as she climbs out of bed, over a Bucky who is now looking much more awake as he takes in his surroundings. She goes to the cupboard and casually throws on a robe, as if the three of them waking up practically naked together is no big deal, and says, “Who wants steak and eggs for breakfast?”

When she turns back, Steve and Bucky are sharing a look, and if she has to guess, she’d say it’s an ‘I can’t believe we did that last night, but I’m glad we did’ look. Darcy can’t agree more.

Bucky sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and rubbing one eye. “You are an angel sent from heaven,” he declares. “I’ve got first shower.” He jumps up and practically jogs out the door without making the slightest attempt to cover his bare ass.

Darcy is still grinning when she turns to Steve. “How are you doing this morning, big guy?”

“Fantastic,” he says with an easy smile, and it’s such a rare sight that she takes a moment to really look at him. His hands are laced behind his head, quilt pulled up to his bellybutton, sleep-mussed blonde hair on her pillow. His brow is smooth, the only lines on his face the ones from his smile. It gives her the urge to leap onto the bed and kiss him one last time, but she just smiles back at him.

“How many eggs do you want?”

 

Darcy is kind of relieved to get to work and discover that Jane will be at SHIELD most of the day doing things that don’t require her assistance, because Darcy is having a hard time not grinning like a total goofball, so a day hiding in the lab by herself is probably best.

“JARVIS, baby,” she says to the empty lab, “you need to warn me if Tony comes down this way, okay? Because I have a distinct lack of faith in my own ability to play it cool today, and if he starts interrogating me on why I can’t stop grinning like the Cheshire cat, things could get weird. We cool?” 

“We cool, Darcy,” JARVIS replies, sounding mildly amused. 

 

She makes it through the day interrogation-free, though at one point she takes the precaution of hiding in the ladies bathroom for ten minutes until Tony is back in the elevator and JARVIS gives her the all clear. When she gets home that night she finds Steve and Bucky in the kitchen making homemade pizza, a household favourite. 

“You guys are _awesome_ ,” she says, giving each of them a kiss on the cheek, then wondering belatedly whether that’s a more or less weird thing for her to do after what had happened the night before. But Bucky just hip checks her and Steve offers her an olive, and everything’s exactly the same as it always was.

She’s a little surprised—okay, _very_ surprised—when all three of them end up in her bed again that night, but if Steve needs a bit more time to adjust, she’s sure as hell not complaining.

 

“Hubba Bubba?” asks Steve.

“It’s a brand of bubble gum,” Darcy answers. “They stopped making it sometime in the 90s, but I think maybe it’s back again these days.”

The three of them are lounging on the couch in the semi-darkness of the living room, watching the episode of _Community_ with all the flashbacks to things that never actually happened on the show. _Community_ is bursting at the seams with pop culture references, which is actually kind of useful, because with Darcy there to expound, Steve and Bucky can catch up on a fair bit of history with every episode.

“We should go camping again soon,” murmurs Bucky, as the characters on the screen start arguing about the pronunciation of the word ‘s’mores.’

“Because you didn’t come close enough to burning our tent down last time?” says Steve, eyes not leaving the TV.

“Says the guy who couldn’t even get a campfire started until I taught him how,” Bucky returns mildly, in a half-hearted attempt to defend his survival skills.

While the boys have done an impressive job of acclimatizing to the 21st century—Darcy’s sure her own head would have exploded so many times it would be impossible to put it back together by this point—every now and then it all seems to get a bit much for them. Steve becomes withdrawn and Bucky gets irritated over the tiniest things, so she’s gotten into the habit of dragging them all off to the woods for the weekend. They come home reeking of campfire smoke, but refreshed by the peace and quiet (even Darcy, who usually can’t stand to be without internet access for more than an hour). It’s become less necessary as time goes on, but no less fun. 

Bucky is sitting in the middle of the couch, Steve on one side, close enough that their shoulders are touching, and Darcy on the other. She’s slouched back against him, her spine aligned with his side and her legs hanging over the armrest. The fingers buried in her hair scrape lightly against her scalp and she lets her eyelids fall closed, wondering if this is how cats feel when they get petted.

Four nights. It’s been four nights in a row now that they’ve all slept, and done far more than sleep, in Darcy’s bed. It just keeps happening, like some kind of unspoken agreement, and none of them want to break the spell by discussing it out loud.

The matchmaker in her does a happy dance every time Steve and Bucky take things to the next level, and not just because she has the pleasure of being there to watch it. Even the little things make her want to squirm with glee, like the first morning Steve gave Bucky a kiss on the temple as he passed him his coffee, or the way Bucky curls into Steve’s back while he sleeps.

For the moment, she’s on the receiving end of a heightened level of affection from both of them, though she knows it’s just an anomaly of the whole crazy ménage a trois thing they’ve got going on. Steve threads his fingers through hers whenever they sit next to each other; Bucky comes up behind her and slips his arms around her waist, murmuring things in her ear that make her smile.

She knows she’s just a stand-in until they get comfortable doing these things with each other, and only each other, but she figures she may as well enjoy it while it lasts. It’s getting kind of ridiculous, really, considering the things they’re prepared to do with each other in bed each night, but it won’t be long now and they’ll be ready to go it alone. 

It hasn’t escaped her attention that this whole situation is just a teensy bit screwed up, or at least far beyond the realm of anything considered normal by muggle standards. Mrs Foster next door would probably have a coronary if she had any idea about the crazy shit going down on the other side of the adjoining wall, but when the three of them are tucked away from the world together, it doesn’t feel screwed up at all. And besides, it’s probably only going to last another day or two anyway.

“The Travelling Wilburys?” Bucky asks, as he coils a strand of her hair idly round his finger.

It takes Darcy a moment to realise he’s referring to the TV show they’re watching. “Okay, remember how I was telling you about the Beatles the other day? Well, George Harrison from the Beatles started a super group with some other famous musicians at the time and they were called the Travelling Wilburys.”

“I know another group that’s pretty super,” Bucky murmurs into the side of her neck as he cups her breast with a warm hand.

Darcy rolls her eyes as she gets to her feet, pulling both of them up as well. “That was _terrible_ ,” she says, leading them down the hallway. “Did pick-up lines that bad really work in the forties?”  
“For him, they did,” says Steve, with a quirk of his mouth.

“It can’t be that bad. It’s working now, isn’t it?” Bucky says with a grin, as they approach her bedroom.

She arches an eyebrow at him. “Let’s be clear. I’m about to ravage you in _spite_ of that line, not because of it. Steve,” she says, “show Bucky how a woman ought to be treated.”

With a grin, Steve sweeps her up into his arms like a bride on her wedding night.

“I hope you’re taking notes, Barnes,” she says, as she laces her fingers behind Steve’s neck. 

Steve carries her through the doorway and lays her gently on the bed as if she’s the delicate heroine of some trashy romance novel, then climbs carefully on top of her. As he kisses her tenderly, Bucky says, from beside the bed, “I thought I heard talk of ravaging. When does the ravaging start?” 

“When you’re naked,” Darcy replies, between kisses.

“So, two seconds, then,” says Bucky, and Darcy grins against Steve’s mouth at the sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank you guys enough for all the comments and kudos, I appreciate every single one of them <333


	6. Scared You'll Forget Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a little longer than intended, but my wonderful and amazing beta has hopped aboard this little ship to help me out with the second part of the story. I’m so excited to be working with her again and so grateful for her help! Her name is Ella_Greggs (or Ella Greggs on fanfiction.net), make sure you check out her stuff! You guys continue to overwhelm me with all your beautiful comments, I can’t thank you enough for every last one of them. I hope you’ll stick with me as the ride gets a little bumpier for Darcy and her boys!

Darcy’s not sure what time it is—whatever that time is when the first watery light of dawn starts to creep in around the edges of her curtains. That time that doesn’t really need a name because no one in their right mind would be awake then anyway. 

Darcy wishes she wasn’t awake either, but her brain has other ideas. At least now, as pale grey light slowly suffuses her room, she can see, not just hear and feel, the two warm bodies in her bed. Bucky’s back is pressed against Steve’s chest, both of them breathing the slow, easy breaths of deep sleep. Steve’s arm is draped over Bucky’s hip, and they’re doing that thing some people do, where they look younger and more innocent asleep than they could ever hope to manage when they’re awake. 

It feels like a glimpse into what their lives could have been like if they’d been born in this era. If they’d been spared the horrors of the war and all that came after, and were allowed to grow up with all the freedoms she takes for granted. But they wouldn’t be the men they are without the experiences they’ve had, and despite all the odds being against them, they’re finally here, indelibly at peace in each other’s arms. 

She’s happy for them—truly, genuinely, no-holds-barred happy—that they’ve found each other and that she helped bring them together. But in the last hour, as she lay awake following trails of thought through the darkness, a painful melancholy has set in.

She thinks back to the evening before—it’s hard to believe it was only a few hours ago—when Steve had been on all fours with Bucky behind him, and she’d lain next to them trying to memorise every detail. The muted glow of the bedside lamp was just enough to illuminate the light sheen of sweat on the corded muscles of their arms and shoulders. Steve’s head hung low, blonde hair falling forward, eyes closed and lips parted as he pushed back against Bucky. Bucky’s eyes were tightly shut as he thrust into Steve, as if the pleasure was almost too much to bear, and Darcy had worked herself to orgasm with her fingers to the beat of their rasping breaths. 

And that’s how she knows this thing between the three of them is nearly over. If they can do that together, they’ll soon be ready to go it alone. Which makes perfect sense, obviously. This arrangement was only ever supposed to be a one-night deal. But as she looks over at the two sleep-mussed heads on her pillow, one light, one dark, and tries to picture what it will be like to go back to sleeping alone, it feels like a pair of Hulk-sized hands are slowly crushing her rib cage.

She’s pretty sure she’s in love with both of them. In fact, she’s sure she is, and that she probably has been for months. She doesn't know whether to be horrified or impressed by her stunning capacity for self-deception. 

She really should have known better when it came to Bucky. She’d been telling herself for a long time that she was over him, that the feelings she had when they first met were just a little crush. All lies, of course, part of her ‘fake it til you make it’ strategy—pretend the feelings aren’t there until one day they finally disappear on their own. It had worked in the past, there was no reason to think it wouldn't work this time. Except, of course, for the fact that she lives with him, which means there’s no escaping how goddamn adorable he looks whenever he winks at her, or makes pancakes for her in nothing but his shorts. She really thought she had a handle on it, though. Turns out all she had was a truckload of denial.

The Steve situation is even more surprising, although once again, it really shouldn’t be. She already knew she had a strong affection for him, at the very least in a platonic sort of way, and there’s no question she’s physically attracted to him. Perhaps it had been naive to think that those two things could be kept separate, but any time she’d had feelings that fell into the category of ‘let me love you’ rather than ‘let me do you’, she’d told herself it was just that her brain was being addled by all the sexy muscles, and that she didn’t really mean it. But she does mean it. She totally, head-over-heels means it.

To be in love with both of them at the same time is in itself kind of ridiculous, although Darcy’s never been the type to get over one obsession before starting another. She’s really outdone herself this time, though. To fall for two people who have already fallen for each other—it’s like her heart’s been plotting for months to cause her the maximum possible amount of anguish. 

The mattress dips as Steve rolls over in his sleep, and Bucky reaches for her in the semi-darkness. She pillows her head on his shoulder and entwines her legs with his as he buries his nose in her hair. He hums contently and she feels it rumble through his chest like a cat’s purr. 

She’s caught in their net, soon to be cut loose, but until then she’s going to close her eyes and pretend they want her as much as they want each other.

 

Even after showering and dressing for work, Darcy still feels barely human. The day hasn’t even begun yet and she’s exhausted, because apparently lying awake for hours and having major revelations about the utterly hopeless state of your love life will do that to you. She isn’t stingy with the concealer, but the dark circles under her eyes just won’t take the hint. A trip to Starbucks on the way to Stark Tower this morning has just been upgraded from ‘highly desirable’ to ‘more necessary than air’.

When she gets to the kitchen, Steve is pouring himself a cup of coffee from the pot.

“Would you like one?” he asks. 

She looks at the pot as she debates whether a regular coffee plus a Starbucks chaser would be excessive under the circumstances. She must stare for too long, because after a bit he says, “Darce?”

“Um, no thanks, I’m good.” She takes a slice of bread from the loaf on the counter top and puts it in the toaster, then opens the pantry and retrieves the nutella. 

Steve takes a sip of his coffee. “You feeling okay this morning?” 

That must be Steve-speak for ‘you look like crap.’ Wonderful. Steve himself looks so ready to face the day it’s making her eyes hurt, with his neatly combed hair, perfectly ironed khakis and crisp button-up shirt.

She puts the nutella down next to the toaster. “Just tired,” she says, forcing a smile. 

His look of concern is tinged with a hint of contrition, as if maybe he thinks it’s his fault for keeping her up late with all the amazing sex, like that would be a thing to apologise for. 

He puts down his mug. “C’mere,” is all he says, with a gentle warmth that makes her insides twist. He snakes an arm around her waist, pulling her in close and resting their foreheads together in an easy, familiar embrace. She can feel the planes and curves of his chest under her palms, even through the layers of plaid and undershirt. His freshly applied cologne is strong, and it’s a smell that’s synonymous with Steve, with gentle strength and clear blue eyes, with dexterous fingers and quiet confidence.

He kisses her then, and he probably means it to be a brief, chaste thing—that’s certainly how it starts—so Darcy can’t really explain how she ends up with her tongue in his mouth and her hands in his hair, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that they’re on a timer now, and that every kiss, every touch, is numbered. She’s an addict on her last pack of cigarettes, smoking each one right down to the filter, savouring every lungful.

She hears footsteps on the tiles behind her that can only be Bucky’s boots and quickly breaks away from Steve, feeling the hot prickle of shame across her skin. Bucky pulls up short when he sees them, boot squeaking against the tiles. She doesn’t know whether Bucky actually saw them or not, but the evidence she’s been kissing her best friend’s boyfriend, even if they’re not calling each other by that word yet, is undeniable. Steve’s hair is sticking out at odd angles as a result of her frantic fingers, and his lips are swollen and tinged red from her lipstick.

She knows instinctively that she’s broken some kind of unwritten rule. They’d done everything else together, all three of them present, hidden away from the world in the privacy of Darcy’s room. Kissing Steve like this, out in the light of day, without Bucky in the room... it’s a tiny distinction but a totally different ball park. It wasn't about Steve and Bucky, about helping them through their issues. She stole that kiss all for herself, and that was never part of the deal.

The uncomfortable silence is put out of its misery when Bucky wipes the look of surprise off his face and heads for the coffee pot like it’s no big deal, like she hasn’t just totally betrayed his trust. 

“That colour suits you,” Bucky comments, nodding at Steve’s mouth. His tone is one of mild amusement, but playing it cool is practically Bucky’s superpower, so that doesn’t tell her anything. Steve drags a thumb across his lower lip and inspects it, brow furrowed.

It feels like she’s making a mess of more than just Steve’s face, and she suddenly has a very strong urge to be anywhere other than the apartment. 

“It’s getting kind of crowded in here,” she says, and it’s possible she’s referring to more than just their apartment’s tiny kitchen. “Jane has heaps of, um... stuff she wants help with today, so I’m going to get an early start. Catch you guys later,” she says, making her escape without meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Your toast—” Steve starts to say.

“Not hungry.” She’s not even lying. “You have it,” she calls over her shoulder, resisting the urge to break into a run on her way to the front door.


	7. Best We Get Our Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is why I shouldn’t write long stories. Sorry for the crappy chapter, my lovelies, I find it really hard to keep the quality up the longer the story gets, but if you can stick with me through the angsty, plotty stuff, we’ve only got one more chapter to go after this :)

By the time Darcy leaves Starbucks with her skyscraper of vanilla latte, she knows what she needs to do, but it’s not until early afternoon that she finds the stones to actually do it.

Within half an hour she’s managed to convince Jane that tonight would be perfect for a movie night with the girls.

“And we should have it at your place,” Darcy says, “seeing as Thor’s off Thor-ing himself around the galaxy right now. I’ll pick up a couple of bottles of wine on the way. It’s cool if I crash on your couch again, right?”

Her motivations aren’t entirely selfish. It’s got to suck just a little, having a boyfriend who takes business trips to whole other planets. Darcy can’t be entirely sure how much of Jane’s acquiescence is just to get her to stop talking so Jane can get back to work, but Darcy will take what she can get under the circumstances. Besides, history has proven that Jane loves movie nights, once Darcy can pry her away from her computer. It only takes another five minutes to text Pepper and Natasha and get them on board as well. 

She exits out of ‘Messages’ and returns to the home screen—a dumb photo of her, Steve and Bucky, huddled around the campfire one chilly evening during their last camping trip. They’re all pulling silly faces. Darcy is making a fish face, cheeks sucked in, and Bucky has his eyes crossed and his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. Steve had refused to pull a face, but as luck would have it, she took the photo at the precise moment he was mid-eye roll, so the effect is basically the same.

It’s been her wallpaper for so long she usually doesn’t even notice it. She stares at it now, lets her eyes blur on it, as she asks herself one final time whether she’s really going to do this. Eventually, the screen goes dark.

She jams the phone into the pocket of her jeans and leaves the lab under the guise of a bathroom break. She makes her way to a storage closet at the end of the hall and lets herself in, closing the door behind her. In Stark Tower, even the storage closets are shiny and new. The artificial lighting feels over-bright in the small, windowless space. 

The room is full of boxes of old tech Jane had shipped up from New Mexico, stuff she’s probably never going to need again but can’t bring herself to throw away. The lid to one of the boxes is open, and sitting on top is a device Darcy used to refer to as the dingle-hopper. Not because it has anything to do with _The Little Mermaid_ , or forks, or seagulls, just because she could never remember its proper name. It’s one of Jane’s homemade creations, roughly the size and shape of a hairdryer, with a digital display tacked onto the side. She picks it up and flicks one of the little spinning parts at the end. The handle had broken off at one point, and Darcy had taped it back on more times than she could remember. The tape is still there, curling at the edges and starting to peel away.

Darcy gets her phone out of her pocket and slides down the door until she’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, the dingle-hopper in one hand and her cell in the other. 

She takes a deep, fortifying breath—which somehow morphs into a sigh by the time it leaves her lungs—then finds the number she needs and hits ‘Call’ before she loses her nerve. The phone starts to ring. She picks at the end of the tape around the handle of the dingle-hopper as she waits. It rings for so long she thinks he’s not going to pick up, and she’s just decided maybe that’s for the best, when he does. 

“Hello?” 

“Hey Buck, it’s me. I’m just calling to let you know I’m going to stay at Jane’s tonight,” she says lightly, as if making this phone call isn’t, in fact, killing her.

“Oh,” he says, his tone unreadable. 

She presses on. “I thought it was time to give you and Steve some space. Give you a chance to close the deal, you know?” The tape starts lifting up as she picks at it. There’s still desert sand stuck under the edges.

“Oh, okay.” There’s a pause. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” he says, and she winces, because she’s pretty sure that means ‘it’s probably best you keep your mouth off Steve from now on anyway.’

“Just tell Steve I’m having a movie night with the girls and that I’m going to have a few drinks and crash at Jane’s like I always do,” she says.

“Okay.” His voice is still an uncharacteristic monotone, and it’s weirding her out.

“Okay, so, I’ll see you tomorrow or something,” she says, because she really wants this conversation to be over.

“...Okay, bye Darce.” 

She snaps the phone shut and drops her head back, letting it thunk lightly against the door. Just this morning, the thought of Steve and Bucky moving forward without her was almost unbearable. Ending it herself had been the last thing on her mind, and yet here she is, doing exactly that. To be fair, it’s not all her doing. She thinks Nathan Govers should take at least a small part of the blame. She’d done his homework every day for two months in freshman year of high school before she realised nothing she did was going to make him notice her. These days she can recognise a hopeless situation when she sees one, and she knows better than to hang around when it’s time to start cutting your losses. 

She pulls at the dingle-hopper’s unraveling tape, just because she can. Maybe she’s overreacting about kissing Steve in the kitchen this morning, this whole situation is so far outside her realm of experience she feels like she’s losing all perspective, but the fact remains that it’s time Bucky and Steve man up and stop using her as an excuse for not fully committing to each other and to what that means for their lives. 

Continuing to share a bed is just enabling all of them, most of all her. Physically removing herself for a night means there’s no need for any kind of awkward conversation about it all, but more importantly, it means there’s no risk of her resolve crumbling under the formidable force of Bucky’s cocky smile or Steve’s hopeful gaze. She rips off the last bit of tape and the device falls apart in her lap. 

It may be an act of self-preservation, but it feels like open-heart surgery without the anaesthetic. 

 

Darcy keeps a spare set of clothes at Stark Tower (in this job she never knows when she’s going to end up all covered in science) which she packs into her bag before hustling Jane out the door at the end of the day. They stop at the liquor store on the way to Jane’s apartment and Darcy picks up the standard fare for a girls night in: a bottle of white, a bottle of red and a big bag of M&Ms. There are no peanut butter flavoured ones, but that’s par for the course at this point, because life seems pretty determined to keep her from having what she wants.

When they get to Jane’s, Darcy is greeted with a reminder of why she could never share a place with her boss. Jane may have referred to the RV in New Mexico as a temporary living situation, but this apartment gets the exact same treatment. Most of the horizontal surfaces are littered with fast food wrappers, dirty dishes and stacks of scientific journal articles, there are no pictures on the walls and there are even boxes in one corner of the living room that have never been unpacked, despite the fact that it’s been nearly a year since they relocated to New York. Darcy may take a laid back attitude towards housekeeping, but this was bordering on _Hoarders_ territory.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jane says half-heartedly as Darcy automatically starts tidying the dining table so it no longer resembles her desk in the lab.

“Trust me, I do. Go have a shower,” Darcy instructs.

By the time Pepper and Natasha arrive, the place is looking more like an apartment and less like a room Bruce just hulked out in.

“Red or white?” Darcy asks Natasha as Jane turns on the TV and starts browsing Netflix. Meanwhile, Pepper settles herself on the couch with her glass of sauvignon blanc, nudging off her CEO heels and untwisting her ‘mess with me and you’ll be sorry’ bun. 

“Red,” Nat answers as she leans against the counter top, somehow still every bit the super spy, even in such a casual pose. “So what’s new with you?”

“Nothing much,” says Darcy, lying through her teeth, as she pours Nat’s drink.

“How are your boys doing?” Nat asks.

“What?” says Darcy, too loudly, as wine sloshes out of the bottle faster than she intends.

She stops pouring and eyes Nat carefully. For all that Nat’s expression is constantly guarded, it really does look like she’s just making an honest inquiry.

“Um, fine?” Darcy answers, sliding the wine glass across the counter top to her. Natasha eyes her suspiciously for a moment, like maybe she doesn’t buy it, but she simply picks up her glass and heads to the living room. 

Darcy chews on her lip as she tops up her own glass. There’s a part of her that would love nothing more than to spill the whole crazy story to her friends, but this isn’t just about her, and it doesn’t seem right to go sharing personal stuff about Steve and Bucky with people they work with, or people whose partners work with them. 

The whole situation is pretty unusual, and while she’s not concerned about the girls judging her, she’d still rather keep it to herself. Plus, it kind of feels like this precious little thing just between the three of them, for all that it’s broken now. 

She tears open the bag of M&Ms and tips them into what she’s reasonably certain is a clean bowl, then joins the others in the living room. She flops down into the armchair and after a brief discussion about what to watch, which Darcy really can’t be bothered contributing to, Jane starts the movie.

Usually nothing can distract Darcy when Johnny Depp is on screen, especially when he’s playing Captain Jack Sparrow, but tonight she’s paying about as much attention as she did the time Coulson lectured her on the importance of reading the SHIELD orientation manual all the way to the end.

She wonders what Steve and Bucky are doing now, what they had for dinner, whether they’ll sleep in Steve’s bed or Bucky’s, seeing as they won’t be in hers, and what they’re going to do in that bed that she’s not going to be a part of. In a room full of her closest friends, Darcy still can't escape the lonely ache lodged high in her chest.

She realises now why she prioritised Steve and Bucky’s enjoyment over hers that first night, why she’d initially resisted their attempts to get—literally—into her pants. On some level, even then, she was trying to keep herself separate, to protect herself from the very pain she’s feeling right now.

She takes a sip of shiraz, which now tastes positively sour after the sweetness of the M&Ms. She washes the taste away with another handful of candy. Wine probably isn’t a good idea tonight anyway, as alcohol just tends to exacerbate whatever her state of mind is at that moment. Fantastic if she’s ready to party, decidedly un-fantastic when she’s already dangerously close to Debbie Downer territory.

What she could really go for is a cup of tea, but Jane doesn’t keep teabags in her apartment. In any case, tea is a drink for happier times, like when she’s on vacation at her grandparents’ farm, or watching a Doctor Who Christmas special.

She leans forward to put her wine glass down on the coffee table, then settles back and—because apparently she likes to torture herself—tries to decide which man she has the strongest feelings for. Eventually she gives up, though. Every single thing about either one of them makes her want to melt into a puddle of lovesick goo, like the shape of Steve’s lower lip, or the way Bucky’s hair flops over his forehead.

It’s not like she gets to choose between them anyway, and in order for her to have that choice Steve and Bucky would need to break up first, which is too horrible an idea to even entertain. Besides, it’s when the three of them are together, whether in the bedroom or outside of it, that things reach the most epic levels of awesomeness. Not like that’s a realistic long-term option, though. A threesome is something that happens when people take an acid trip together, it’s not a way of life.

It’s only when the last few M&Ms rattle around in the bottom of the bowl under her sweeping fingertips that she realises she’s eaten the whole packet. 

_All good things_ , she thinks, perhaps a little melodramatically, as she finishes them off.

 

“I can’t do anything more here until JARVIS runs these calculations,” Jane says with a frown, even though it’s about the time normal people would be leaving work anyway. 

“How terrible,” says Darcy, rubbing her neck where it’s still sore from sleeping on Jane’s couch last night.

“What about you?” Jane asks as she pulls on her coat, ignoring Darcy’s sarcasm. 

“I’ll just do a bit more on this report, then I’m out of here,” she says. She’s proof-reading a report Jane wrote for Director Fury on her latest findings. Jane is a notorious word-dropper, so Darcy has her work cut out for her.

Jane slings her bag over her shoulder and stops in front of Darcy’s desk on her way to the door.

“You feeling okay, Darcy?” Jane asks, a small line appearing between her brows. “You’ve been a bit, I don’t know, _off_ , the last couple of days. Do you think you might be coming down with something?” Even though Darcy is usually the one looking out for Jane, it’s not uncommon for their roles to be reversed.

“I don’t know. Yeah, maybe,” Darcy replies, barely glancing up from her computer screen. She doesn’t like lying, but it’s easier to agree than to try and think up some other excuse for her morose demeanor.

“Well, make sure you get a good night’s rest, and don’t come in tomorrow if you’re feeling any worse,” Jane says over her shoulder as she heads for the door.

“Yes, Mom,” Darcy answers. The doors woosh closed behind her, leaving Darcy alone in the lab.

Returning to her apartment for a good night’s sleep is exactly what she’s got in mind, as soon as she’s sure that when she gets there she’ll find two lovebirds now fully devoted to each other, not two sexy supersoldiers ready to leap back into her bed. It’s going to hurt like hell, seeing them together and no longer being a part of it, but it’s something she’s just going to have to get used to. She fishes her cell out of her bag and dials Bucky’s number to check how things went with him and Steve last night.

The line picks up. “Bucky’s phone, Steve speaking.”

“Oh,” Darcy says in surprise. “Hey Steve, is Bucky there?”

“Hey,” he says warmly, and she can picture the small but genuine smile that accompanies that tone. “He’s in the shower. I wouldn’t usually answer his phone, but then I saw it was you. Did you enjoy your movie last night? We missed you.” 

The sincerity in those last three words makes her chest hurt, like her heart suddenly tried to flee her ribcage, only to be jerked back when it reached the end of its chain. She bites down on the ‘I missed you, too’ that forms on her tongue.

She wonders if Bucky even spoke to him about their relationship at all, because Steve sure as hell doesn’t sound like he’s moved on from the whole threesome thing yet. As committed as she is to putting an end to it, she’s pretty sure her resolve will collapse like a house of cards if Steve so much as looks at her.

Thinking on her feet, she says, “Listen, Steve, there’s urgent science-y stuff happening, so Jane and I are going to be working late.” She forces her tone towards something more closely resembling normal, cheery Darcy, or a reasonable facsimile thereof. “I’ll probably just end up sleeping on Tony and Pepper’s couch—or, more likely, in one of their outrageously appointed guest bedrooms—so don’t wait up!”

“Oh, okay,” he says, in a voice that makes her feel like she’s just kicked a puppy.

Darcy resists the urge to bang her head on the desk. A small, desperate part of her wants to cry, ‘Steve, baby, you have to stop using me as a crutch! It’s okay, you can do this!’ 

Instead, she says, “I’ll drop home in the morning to shower and change before work, so I’ll see you for breakfast, okay?”

She ends the call, hoping to god that Bucky sorts things out with Steve soon, otherwise she may never sleep in her own bed again. She’d send him a text about it, except that now there’s every chance Steve will see it first.

“Fuck my life,” Darcy mutters as she presses the heels of her palms into her eyes.

 

For a lack of any better ideas, she keeps working on the report as the last of the light drains out of the day. The hall outside the lab slowly empties of Stark employees, until finally the energy-efficient lighting dims due to the lack of movement. She’s spent all day avoiding people, wrapped in her little cocoon of mopey angst, but now that everyone’s gone, it’s even more depressing.

Eventually, once her stomach is growling so loudly she’s surprised JARVIS hasn’t commented on it, she makes her way out into the hall. The lights flare to life as soon as the building senses her movements, flooding the silent corridor with what feels like enough wattage to illuminate a football field. She gets a sandwich from the mind-bogglingly healthy, yet surprisingly appetising vending machine (a Pepper Potts initiative). Darcy’s just as big a fan of it as the rest of the floor, but she prefers to call it the anti-vending machine, because it’s basically the opposite of everything a self-respecting vending machine should be.

As she eats her make-shift dinner back at her desk, she considers her options for the rest of the night. There’s no way she can head up to the top floor and spin Tony and Pepper the same ‘working late’ story she gave Steve. If there was actually work to be done, Jane would have stayed back too, and even if she told them Jane had just taken a late bus home, there was still too much risk that either Tony or Pepper would ask Jane about the fascinating and urgent work that had kept them here so late next time they saw her.

Natasha would probably be open to a ‘can I crash at yours, no questions asked?’ kind of phone call, except for the fact that she lives with Clint, and Darcy can’t think of a single good excuse to give him (or Jane, or anyone else) for why she can’t go back to her own place. Lies like ‘the AC is broken’ or ‘I accidentally left the faucet on and the apartment flooded’ or ‘ninjas came in through the window and stole all the bed linens’ wouldn’t account for why Bucky and Steve didn’t need somewhere to stay, too. 

Darcy throws her crusts in the trash. The fact that her friends, roommates and colleagues all know each other is making this all exceedingly difficult. 

Her security pass gives her 24-hour access to Stark Tower, and she happens to know there’s a bed in the infirmary at the other end of the floor from when she was in there one day on an Advil hunt. It had been the morning after Bucky’s birthday and far more beers than were strictly appropriate for a Tuesday night. As long as no superheroics go awry in the next few hours, she should be able to get a passable night's sleep.

 

Darcy is in no hurry to set up camp in the infirmary, but by 11pm she’s run out of report to proof. Her eyes sting from staring at the screen for so long and her back is stiff from sitting in one position. She stands and stretches her arms above her head, then wanders over to the full-length windows. She rests her forehead against the cool glass and looks down on the ocean of city lights below. 

Working on the report had been a surprisingly effective way of keeping her brain occupied, but now that there’s nothing else to draw her focus, her mind circles back to her problems. Like pressing on a bruise, she seems intent on prodding at her own pain.

She replays the phone conversation with Steve in her head as some self-destructive part of her tries to read more into the fact that he only picked up because she was the one calling. Pathetic, really, the way she can almost make herself believe that his tone was warmed by the same sort of feelings she has for him. 

The thing is she’d be so damn _good_ at being his girlfriend, if she just had the chance. Or Bucky’s girlfriend, for that matter. She knows that Bucky would rather wash dishes than dry them, that Steve doesn’t like to discuss politics, and that as far as either of them are concerned, a pizza’s not a pizza unless it’s plastered in anchovies.

She knows that Steve’s mouth tightens into a small frown when he’s dwelling on unpleasant memories from his past, whereas Bucky chews absently on his lip and taps his thumb against his thigh. Usually a few dirty jokes are enough to start coaxing Bucky out of his funk, whereas a movie and some popcorn seems to be the best remedy for disrupting Steve’s train of thought. She doesn’t understand why it works, she just knows that it does. 

That’s it in a nutshell, though, isn’t it? She can help, but she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know what it’s like to fight in a war, or to lose seventy years of your life, and that’s why they’re better off with each other than either of them would be with her. Something in her chest grows cold and small in the face of such an undeniable truth.

Her breath is fogging up the window, but she was never really paying attention to the view in the first place. She figures there’s nothing for it but to try and get some sleep. She shoulders her bag and exits the lab, hall lights roaring to life once again as she makes her way through the corridors.

It’s not like she’s girlfriend-of-a-superhero material anyway. She’s not crazy smart like Jane, or crazy competent like Pepper, or crazy badass like Natasha. And sure, she’s descending into full-blown Eeyore mode now, but she figures she might just wallow in it for a bit. 

Usually she’s pretty good at shrugging off the fact that she’s surrounded by outrageously talented individuals, but sometimes it’s hard not to be painfully aware of how exceptionally ordinary she is in comparison. Sure, she has skills of her own, but being a quick draw with a taser isn’t exactly up there with the ability to save an entire planet.

Darcy opens the infirmary door and surveys her antiseptic accommodations. Even from here the sheets on the narrow bed look cold and entirely too crisp.

She drops her bag on the floor with a sigh.

“Hello, bottom of the barrel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all your amazing comments, I don't even know what to do with you guys and all your awesomeness!


	8. Break The Rules Already

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're finally at the end of this thing, I'm actually a little sad! And also a little nervous, I hope you guys like the last chapter! I really didn't expect to get so many hits and comments on a story with such an obscure OT3, you've all been absolutely amazing, and if you check the Darcy/Steve/Bucky tag, you'll see that the incredibly talented twistedingenue is now writing these guys too! Go and leave her some comment love and maybe she'll write us a longer story :)

The next morning, Darcy straightens up the infirmary to remove any sign that she spent the night at Stark Tower. She tugs the bedding back into place with all the patience of someone who’s had enough of this crap. Emo Darcy has taken a back seat and Pragmatic Darcy has the wheel now, the one who tases gods and keeps her cool in the face of giant alien fire robots.

There may have been a certain practicality in removing herself from temptation the last couple of nights, but she’s done with hiding. If she can handle first contact with a Norse god, she can sure as hell handle whatever’s waiting for her back at the apartment, whether it’s two roommates who are now agonizingly monogamous or two roommates she’ll have to give the hard word to about how her body is now a supersoldier-free zone. 

She stops at Starbucks on her way home from Stark Tower. She’ll be back this way in less than a couple of hours to start work again, but there’s no way she’s facing another minute of the day without a latte. While the bed in the infirmary had been an improvement on Jane’s couch, it was still a far cry from her own comfy mattress, and she's already feeling the effects of a second bad night’s sleep. On top of that, shit’s about to get real, and a column of sweet, caffeinated goodness will go a long way towards helping her keep it together.

She tries not to breathe her furry morning breath on the barista as she places her order, then moves to an out-of-the-way corner to wait for her drink. She’s reasonably certain she doesn’t actually stink, but she’s got that unique feeling that comes from not having showered the night before, like she’s covered in a thin layer of grime, even though she knows she’s not. There are showers in Stark Tower, but without fresh clothes to change into, she’d figured she’d just wait until she got home. A reasonable enough decision, but it does nothing to ease the feeling of overall grossness that envelopes her now.

“Venti skinny caramel latte for Darcy!” shouts the pink-haired barista over the noise of the coffee grinder.  
She swipes her coffee off the counter and steps back out into the obnoxiously sunny day. 

 

Despite her trepidation, by the time she reaches the front door of the apartment, she finds she’s glad to be home. She turns the key and steps inside. There’s no one in sight, but she can hear sounds coming from the kitchen: Bucky and Steve’s muffled voices and the gentle sizzle of the frying pan.

It almost seems strange that everything looks exactly the same. It feels like so much has changed since she was last here, even though it was just two days ago. The only thing that’s different is the dining table. She drops her bag on the floor in its usual spot and moves forward to take a closer look. It’s set for breakfast, which isn’t entirely unusual, but today there’s more than just knives, forks and plates. 

The table is draped in a white tablecloth she didn’t even know they had, and the bone china teapot her grandmother gave her is sitting in the middle of it, steam curling slowly from the spout. Most surprising, though, is the vase of white, yellow and red roses. She’d describe the whole thing as positively romantic, except for the fact that there are three place settings.

She continues on towards the kitchen, and as she steps through the doorway, she inadvertently blocks Steve’s path. He pulls up short, almost losing a blueberry from one of the bowls he’s carrying. The thick dollops of cream in the other bowl hold steady.

“Hey,” he smiles with surprise. 

Bucky glances over his shoulder from where he’s supervising a frying pan of golden brown pancakes. They’re both looking unbearably adorable, Steve in a white tank and drawstring pajama bottoms, Bucky in a black t-shirt and blue boxer briefs, and both still with a touch of bed hair. 

Stay strong, Lewis, she tells herself, taking a fortifying sip of her coffee.

She inhales deeply and notes the banana skins next to the sink. “Banana pancakes with berries and cream? Why are you guys making my favourite breakfast?” 

Steve just smiles like he knows something she doesn’t, which apparently he does, then squeezes past her, presumably to put the bowls on the table. She goes over to inspect the pile of perfectly cooked pancakes on a plate next to the stove. She’d inquired once as to whether Bucky had the cybernetic arm programmed for optimal pancake flipping, but Steve assures her it’s a skill he’s had from a young age.

“Seriously,” she says, as Bucky coaxes the residents of the frying pan to join their friends on the plate. “What’s going on? Don’t tell me Fury decided to go ahead with that Avengers reality TV cooking show thing and there have been cameras installed while I was gone.” She eyes the corners of the room warily as Steve reappears.

When Bucky puts down the frying pan and finally meets her gaze, he actually looks a little apprehensive. “We made you breakfast because we want to talk to you about something.” 

He moves to lean against the counter next to Steve, and the kitchen goes quiet. She tightens her grip on her coffee as something icy twists in her gut. They’re going to ask her to move out. Two days without her has shown them how much they’d prefer to have a place of their own now that they’re together and they’re going to ask her to leave. She swallows drily. She didn’t realise her friendship was so disposable.

The ice in her belly turns to fire as she gets ready to give them an earful about how softening her up with breakfast is way douchier than just asking her outright, but then Bucky starts to talk.

“I know when I first suggested... y’know,” he inclines his head in a way that encompasses all three of them, “it was just supposed to be a one-off thing. But...” He trails off, looking at Steve like he’s not sure what to say next.

“But we were talking last night,” says Steve, “and we want to make it more permanent.” The undertone of captain-y self-assurance is belied by the hint of blush that colours his cheeks.

Darcy presses two fingers to her temple, because this must be what going mad feels like. Her indignation at the thought of being asked to move out has already evaporated, but she has no idea what to feel in its place.

“So just to clarify,” she says, and she can hear how weary she sounds, but she really doesn’t care, “you guys want to keep doing the... sex... thing.” Apparently none of them are capable of having a mature conversation about this topic without getting a little tongue-tied.

“Not just the sex,” says Bucky, with a hint of a smile that tells her he would have liked to add ‘doofus’ to the end of the sentence.

Darcy is now convinced that she seriously misheard something, because this conversation isn’t making any sense at all.

“But you two...” she starts, unsure how to finish, because what she means is ‘you two have been in love with each other since forever, you’re meant for each other, and also, what the hell are you even talking about?!’

“We’ll be together no matter what,” says Steve. 

Bucky’s gaze flicks to the floor, but it does little to hide the warmth in his eyes at Steve’s words. “We know it’s kind of weird,” Bucky says when he raises his eyes again, “but we both want to be with you, too.”

A tiny ember of hope is steadily growing brighter as her mind paints the picture they’re describing. But hope is a treacherous emotion, one that can lead to heartbreak, and she’s done with agreeing to suggestions just because they look on the surface like a dream come true. 

“But you guys have each other, what do you need me for?” she asks, fighting to keep her tone neutral.

“What do we need you for?” Bucky repeats, like she just asked why they need air. “Are you kidding me? I don’t think you realise what grumpy old bastards we’d be if not for you,” Bucky says, which makes Steve smile. “You make sure we don’t get lost, in our own heads or in this decade. Do you think anyone else would have shown me how to use TiVo that many times without putting the remote through the TV screen?”

She allows herself just a quirk of a smile at that. She considers it a pretty impressive achievement that she only called him ‘grandpa’ once during the whole TiVo process.

“You make us laugh,” Bucky continues, “and there are days we need that more than you could ever imagine. Everything’s better when you’re around. We couldn’t do this,” he lifts a hand to indicate the apartment, the city, the entirety of life in the twenty-first century, “without you.”

She has a strong desire to hug them both, and maybe cry on them a little, but she stands her ground. While it’s touching to hear that those things mean so much to them, they’re things she would happily keep doing, without the need for some kind of insanely unconventional relationship.

“What, so, I’m supposed to believe you’ve both just suddenly fallen in love with me?’ she asks. 

“Not so suddenly,” Bucky reveals. 

“Wha...?” Darcy considers finishing the word, or asking a different question, but the incoherent sound she just made pretty much captures it.

“The pancakes are getting cold,” Bucky says, grinning at her flabbergasted expression. He reaches past her to pick up the plate, then passes it to Steve. “Let’s continue this over breakfast.” 

He takes her by the shoulders and steers her out towards the table, which she’s kind of grateful for because she’s pretty sure she’s experiencing a diagnosable level of shock right now and needs to sit down. 

Steve pours her a cup of tea and loads her plate up while Bucky explains that he’d fallen for her pretty much the first day they met.

“But when I realised there might actually be a chance for me and Steve in this century—”

“He felt like he owed it to me to give the two of us a shot. And you remember how I said I still had feelings for girls? Well—” 

“Turns out he meant a certain girl in particular.” Bucky threw her a reassuring wink.

Darcy pops a raspberry in her mouth and chews calmly as her head explodes yet again. It’s all extremely weird, hearing them talk about their “feelings” so openly, when they’ve spent the last week carefully avoiding the topic, and when all three of them have clearly been keeping some big stuff from each other for a while now. But having something to do with your hands and somewhere to focus your eyes seems to make things a little less awkward for everyone, and as they eat, more details come to light.

“He was keen on both of us for months, so what did he do about it? Nothing,” Bucky says, swatting Steve over the head good-naturedly. “Man with a Plan, my ass.”

Darcy kind of gets that, though. If she’d been in a position where she’d had to choose between the two of them, she’s not sure what she would have done either. 

She dutifully eats her maple syrup-drenched pancakes in something of a daze, although a small corner of her mind still manages to appreciate the irony that despite her desire to see them hook up, she’d been the one cockblocking them all along.

“Hey,” she says suddenly, “what do you guys have on today? Are you superhero-ing, or...?”

Steve looks up in surprise. “I just have a briefing at 3pm.” 

Bucky shakes his head. “Wide open.”

“Good,” she says, getting up and going over to her bag. “I’m just going to text Jane that I’m staying home sick today.” She gets out her phone and starts tapping out the message.

“Are you?” Steve asks with concern.

“No, no,” she answers quickly as she hits ‘send’. “I just don’t plan on being away from you guys again for as long as I can help it.”

“So, is that a yes?” asks Bucky.

“Hell yes, it’s a yes,” she says, not even sure when she actually made the decision. “I’m, um, kind of totally into both of you as well,” she says, because apparently spilling your guts is the order of the day.

Her phone beeps with a reply from Jane.

Okay, stay in bed. Feel better! 

I’m already doing the second thing, and definitely planning on the first, Darcy thinks to herself as she drops her phone lightly on top of her bag. 

She turns back to the beautifully set table and the two gorgeous men sitting at it. She’d assumed an outcome this perfect was impossible, and understandably so, because this has got to be about as unbelievable as aliens in Manhattan, but it’s not like their lives were all that normal to start with. 

Her world has righted itself so quickly she almost feels off-balance, but in a delightful, delirious, luckiest-girl-on-the-planet kind of way. She wants to hug and kiss both of them, but first things first.

“I desperately need a shower,” she says, “and I’m not kissing anybody until I’ve brushed my teeth. So I’m going to go do that, and then I propose we meet in my room for some snuggling, because the last two days without you guys have been monumentally shitty, and I could really use a hug—” She suppresses a cringe when that part comes off sounding way more vulnerable than she’d intended. “And I’m not really sure how to do that with both of you out here without it feeling all group-huggy like we just won a football game or something.”

With somewhat more composure than she’s necessarily feeling, she gives them each a quick kiss on the cheek, tells them breakfast was delicious, and heads down the hallway to the bathroom.

Her steps slow once she’s out of view, and it occurs to her that a lot of things from the last six months are probably going to look a little different in light of what she’s learned this morning: that kiss in the kitchen with Steve, for one thing. It’s obvious now she blew that completely out of proportion. But right now she’s reeling from the revelation that Bucky did actually have feelings for her right back at the start, that she hadn’t just imagined it. She hears a quiet sound behind her and turns just in time for Bucky to sweep her up in a surprise bear hug. 

“Sorry, I couldn’t wait,” he says, as they rock from side to side. “We’ll make it up to Steve later.”

She tightens her arms around him and presses her face into his neck as the swaying slows. There are no words for how good it feels to be this close to him again, especially now that she no longer has to keep her feelings reined in.

The emotional rollercoaster of the last forty-eight hours catches up with her in that moment and the back of her eyes prickle as she squeezes them shut. She’d told herself over and over that he wasn’t interested in her, to the point that it was pretty much her mantra as she beat her own feelings into submission. While she couldn’t be happier to discover she was wrong, she doesn’t really know what to do with the fact that all that heartache was basically for nothing. She tries to take a deep breath, but the air catches in her throat and makes a sound not unlike a stifled sob.

“Doll?” he prompts gently, stroking her hair. 

“It’s just...” she starts, not even sure what she was planning to say. She takes a proper breath before trying again. “I’ve spent the last five months trying really hard not to love you, did you know that?” 

There’s a beat of silence as he absorbs this information. “No, I didn’t know that,” he murmurs into her hair. “But if it helps, I was trying not to love you back the whole time.”

She lifts her head to look at him and nods, because it does. She quickly wipes one tear from each cheek, and smiles as he tucks her hair behind her ear.

“All good?” he asks, watching her face carefully.

“Better than good,” she says. “I thought I couldn’t have either of you, but now I have both. I’d say ‘perfect’ is more the word for it.”

“Mmm,” he agrees, and kisses the tip of her nose. “Yes you are.” 

 

She steps out of the shower feeling better than she has in days. 

She heads for her room wearing only a towel, because even though she was serious about the cuddling, she damn well plans on getting more than that. She gets to the doorway of the darkened room—somebody has closed the curtains—to find Steve and Bucky already in her bed, shirtless and making out. Their eyes are closed and they haven’t spotted her yet, so she takes the opportunity to lean against the door frame and watch them for a few moments. 

Steve sits with his back against the wooden headboard as Bucky straddles him, their kisses lazy and gentle. Only a week ago she was picturing this very sight in anticipation of just one night with them. Now she has them every night, and she doesn’t have to imagine anymore. They’re all hers, and the thought makes her chest swell with too many emotions to name.

Bucky slides a hand up to the side of Steve’s neck as he shifts his hips in closer and it very nearly makes Darcy’s brain short out, trying to comprehend how they can look so cute and so hot at the same time.

Without another thought, she pushes off the door frame. “Wait for me,” she says, dropping the towel as she approaches the bed. They both turn to look at her.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Bucky says appreciatively as his gaze traces her curves. 

“I’ll let that slide for now,” says Steve, though he sounds more distracted than offended.

“Goddamn, woman, get in here,” Bucky says, throwing back the covers. She doesn’t need to be asked twice. 

 

It turns out it’s even easier to share your feelings when you’re tangled up in a post-coital embrace of sweat-dampened skin and tousled hair. Darcy is stretched out along Steve’s side, her head on his chest and her arm across his stomach, while Bucky uses Steve’s other shoulder as a pillow, his fingers laced through Darcy’s. The three of them talk softly in the semi-darkness, like they’re trading secrets.

”So,” she says, lifting her head to look at Bucky, “when I called to say I was staying at Jane’s to give you guys some space, did you even talk to Steve about the two of you?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Bucky says.

Steve turns his head to look at Bucky. “Though to be fair, all you actually said was, ‘So is it safe to say you’re cool with the queer stuff now?’”

“You knew what I meant,” Bucky huffs, but there's something a tad sheepish about his smile.

Steve goes on to explain that as he’d come around to the idea that no one should be judged for who they love, it had occurred to him that if two people could be together that way, why not three? “After that first night it was pretty clear we all shared a… connection.” Steve flexes the fingers of the arm wrapped around Darcy and his voice goes a little rough on that last word, like being this open is still outside his comfort zone. She hugs him back a little more tightly in encouragement. “I figured the best way to see if it would actually work was to keep it going a few more nights and see what developed. I could never figure out how to bring it up, but once you started making excuses to stay away from us, I knew I had to say something.”

Darcy’s eyes are wide. “So this was your idea? And here I was, assuming it was all some nefarious plan of Bucky’s.” 

“Don’t look at me,” says Bucky. “My original offer of one night only was genuine. After that, I thought the same as you, that Steve needed more time. And besides, the two hottest people I know were letting me sleep with both of them at the same time. Like I was ever going to say no to that.” 

“Horndog,” Darcy says affably.

“And yet he used to be such a sweet talker with the ladies,” Steve comments, tipping his face towards Bucky’s with an amused smile. They kiss, and Darcy wonders if there will ever come a time when that sight doesn’t drive her to complete distraction.

“Speaking of talk and ladies, this lady’s had enough talk for now,” she says, moving to straddle Steve’s hips.

“Again? Already?” says Bucky, as she dips a hand beneath the sheet and skims her fingertips over his stomach.

“Don’t worry, Buck, I got this covered,” Steve says. “You know, if you’re not _up_ to it.”

“No fear of that, Rogers,” Bucky responds with a wolfish grin. He pushes up off the mattress to where he can reach Darcy’s mouth with his own. “And if you think I’m missing a single second of this, you’re dreaming.”

 

It’s early afternoon by the time they find their way out of the bedroom and start cleaning up from breakfast. As Darcy walks into the kitchen with a pile of dishes from the table, Steve picks up her latte and gives the cup a little shake. 

“Are you done with this, Darce? It’s still half full.”

She puts the dishes down next to the sink, takes the cup from him and has a small sip. It shouldn’t surprise her when it’s stone cold, but she still pulls a face.

“Yeah, I’m totally done with it,” she says, dropping it into the trash. She turns around just in time to run smack into Bucky. The dishes in his hands clatter between them and somehow Darcy ends up with a cleavage full of cream.

“That's a good look for you,” Bucky comments, swiping cream off her chest and licking his finger with a sly grin. 

“Oh, it is _so_ on, Buck-o.” She grabs a handful of berries out of the bowl on the counter, warm and juicy after hours out of the refrigerator. “Food fight!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A final thank you to someassemblingrequired for the prompt and to twistedingenue who ran the fic exchange, this story DEFINITELY never would have happened without you, to the amazing Ella Greggs and her brilliant beta-ing, and to every single one of you who read all the way to the end *hugs*


End file.
